The Other Brother
by gallery
Summary: After journeying into the Deep Roads, Carver must give up his freedom and join the Grey Wardens. He struggles to balance the challenges of the order and his growing attraction to a strong, beautiful archer. When a new scourge of darkspawn bring the Wardens to the brink of destruction, Carver must not only find a way to survive but save the Free Marches from a fate worse than death.
1. The Deep Roads Expedition I

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Deep Roads Expedition

Part I

**9:31 Dragon**

"Nice day to be planning an expedition into the Deep Roads, don't you think? The blight, the dampness, the festering darkness filled with tainted rats..."

"Shut up." Carver snaps.

"You've got a real chip on your shoulder, you know?" Anders observes, unphased.

"I've got a big blade on my shoulder, magey."

"Right." Anders withdraws with a mutter; "wonder what you're compensating for."

Carver bristles but doesn't respond to the twitch in his hand when impulse suggests he reach for the sword strapped to his back. Another tiff with the mage isn't worth the effort. Anders is all talk – it's just he never shuts up. Neither does he ever tire of annoying the piss out of Carver; a cue Anders has probably picked up from Carver's brother Garrett.

Carver glares at Anders until he notices Garrett in the corner of his eye, curiously watching them from several feet away. Living in a family of apostates for nineteen years, one thing Carver knows very well is what it feels like to be watched.

"We've chosen one of the hidden entrances," Bartrand Tethras announces at the top of his voice. The expedition hirelings and adventurers gathered in the Hightown square crowd together to hear him. "The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, ready for a good deflowering!"

The dwarf's brother, Varric Tethras, leans toward Garrett as they stand together and mutters: "Now there's an interesting image."

Carver immediately forgets about Anders in favor of hearing every word of the pronouncement. He tries to squeeze toward the front of the crowd, excitement prickling his hands and arms.

"It'll take a week for us to get to the depth we'll need," Bartrand paces, like a restless beast behind bars. "There are bound to be leftover darkspawn from the Blight." He finally settles into one spot. "Big risks, big rewards."

"There better be. I didn't give up all that coin for nothing."

Carver isn't the only one who turns his head at Garrett Hawke. Everyone there knows Tethras & Hawke are the benefactors funding the entire venture. But when people hear 'Hawke' they think only of Garrett. Carver is used to being overlooked, but it never fails to fire his blood. He's invested the same sweat and tears earning the gold they spent buying into a partnership on the expedition. But that little detail was the first to fly after money exchanged hands. Carver has managed this far to keep silent about the injustice; reminding himself that he only need suffer his brother's conceits until they return to Kirkwall. With the treasure they're sure to find in the Deep Roads, their family will buy themselves protection from human scavengers and templar hunters. That is when Carver will be free to live life as he chooses, for the first time. No more worrying about drawing attention to the reticent Hawke family.

He will no longer be his brother's keeper.

"Trust me," Bartrand soothes, "you will reap what you sow, partner." The dwarf has such steely eyes, with pupils that suck you in like the Void; Carver avoids Bartrand normally, but his eyes especially. From the moment the Hawke brothers met him, Carver walked away knowing the man sees profit and deficits instead of people.

"Now," Bartrand bellows, summoning all eyes back to him, "before we -hey, wait, who invited the old woman?" With deep grooves on his brow, he jerks his thumb at the interloper.

Everyone looks but Carver, who instead puts a hand over his face with a silent curse on his lips.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ser dwarf, but I need to speak with my children."

Oh, Maker. How embarrassing. Carver snakes through the crow and steps into stride with his brother. They walk toward their mother Leandra Hawke – or _Amell_, as she was once known in Kirkwall. Her hair is tied at the nape of her neck, the dull grey color making her look older than she is. Her patched dress, made in unflattering shade of brown, doesn't help the matter. If their mother hadn't run off to marry their apostate father and fled the Free Marches to Ferelden, then Leandra would be standing in jewels and silk today. And probably not looking half as angry.

Carver is already shaking his head as he and Garrett approach her. "Mother, no. We talked about how important this is." Carver says with thinly veiled exasperation.

"I just want to know one thing." Leandra hardens her eyes on Garrett. "Are you planning on taking Carver with you?"

Carver's mouth falls open to argue. His mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth when she doesn't even glance at him.

Garrett shrugs with nonchalance, an attitude befitting the way he's ruled the family since their father died four years ago. "I haven't decided yet."

Carver does not tuck his tail at the fight ahead of him. This is too damn important. "I'm going. It'll be fine."

"It's not fine!" Each word and every line on Leandra's face tighten. When she looks at him like this, Carver knows she sees only a little boy, her youngest _baby_. "You can't both go. What if something were to happen to you?"

Her pleading eyes revert to Garrett; "You I can understand wanting to do this, but leave your brother here I beg you."

"I said I'm going," Carver insists, firm but gentle. "Besides," He adds reasonably, "if we're so bloody afraid of templars, I should go and he should hide."

Garrett shoots him an unappreciative look. Carver pretends not to notice.

"Well, you're not going to be able to take everyone, anyhow," Bartrand interjects, impatiently shaking his head. "You'll need to decide." He tells Garrett.

So Garrett Hawke has the final say. Carver is horrified, but not surprised. He stands there in angry silence, fighting the urge to wring Garrett's neck when Garrett's gaze passes over him. Garrett waves his arm, motioning to someone in the crowd. Carver can't resist the temptation to learn who his brother's chosen first and looks over his shoulder.

Anders. He hates to admit it, but bringing a Grey Warden makes sense. They're the best weapon against darkspawn. And the maps Bartrand is using to get them into the Deep Roads were once Grey Warden property, which Anders gave them in exchange for a favor.

Still, it's_ Anders_.

Carver frowns and looks away. Before this moment, Carver would have said he'd rather sit at an Orlesian tea party than buddy up with Anders. That type of disdain is absent as Carver's thoughts only swirl with despair that he will be denied his rights to go.

Garrett brushes his fingers over his own dark beard contemplatively while their mother pleads with her eyes.

Quickly Carver's blue eyes dart to the elf, Fenris; agile, deceptively strong for his lanky frame, and those strange markings on his skin give him a keen advantage in a fight. Isabela; she's one of the fastest with a dagger Carver has ever seen, and has a couple other _assets_ Carver suspects his brother is interested in. Even Merrill is here, standing way in the back but looking hopeful; her magic is powerful, even brutal, and don't mages love to stick together?

He can't stand it. He needs to hear his name!

"Carver." Garrett repeats.

He blinks and looks at Garrett, who in turn is looks intently back. Carver spares a glance at their mother and the glisten in Leandra's eyes reassures Carver he isn't imagining it: he's going to the Deep Roads.

Carver nods, his neck stiff. Weeping with gratitude would be misplaced; he deserves to go, he's earned it. A weight lifts from his shoulders.

Their mother doesn't feel the same. She grabs his arm, her slender fingers indenting the hard muscle. "Carver, I beg you! Don't go! Don't do this!"

He didn't expect it to, he doesn't want it to, but her words cut into him. "Don't worry about me so," He says softly. "I can take care of myself. You'll see." The old wound in his heart aches to see her doubt him now.

_I am not my brother_.

She relents but Carver knows better than to mistake it as her blessing. He'll never have that. Carver touches her fingers, enveloping her thin hand as he removes it from his arm. He holds her hand inside his for a long moment. She accepts his resolve because there is no other choice. When she pulls her hand away, unhappiness is plainly writ across her face. For the first in a long time, Carver sees their mother give Garrett a dark and disapproving look. Without speaking another word Leandra turns away and starts the long walk back to Lowtown.

"Personal family drama over with?" Bartrand asks gruffly.

_It must be easy to eavesdrop when you're so short_, Carver bites his tongue.

"Then let's get underway." The dwarf turns from the Hawkes and stalks back to the rest of the team, Varric stepping in alongside him.

Garrett turns toward Carver to say something, only to find him gone. Carver can spot a dreaded "Talk" from a league away; no way is he letting Garrett get the last word in about all this. After a quick glance about doesn't produce Carver, Garrett scrubs a hand over his dark beard and shrugs.

"Who are we watching?" Merrill's excited breath on Carver's ear almost makes him jump. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize we were being sneaky. I should have known; you're hiding behind this big pillar."

"I'm... I'm not. Not exactly."

Merrill's big green eyes search Carver's face. "I was." She admits. "I saw you and Hawke talking with your mother. She looked very sad."

"My family has a problem with goodbyes." Carver shrugs, leaning his back against the wide stone pillar. It is one of a dozen like it holding up one of Hightown's many pavilions. Merrill continues to gaze up at him, her eyes full of expectation. Carver shifts uncomfortably, pretending the greatsword slung on his back was the trouble. But he can't pretend away the faint blush creeping under his skin as Merrill's earnest eyes pull him in. "You look... Um, you sure stand out here in Hightown." Carver says, glancing down at her bare feet, admiring her dainty toes.

Merrill's thin eyebrows flinch and she nervously jerks her eyes over her shoulder. "I shouldn't have come," She whispers. "You're right. A Dalish like me can't pass as a servant here. Maybe I should go?"

"That's not what I meant." Carver grimaces.

"Still." Merrill looks over her other shoulder. "I should say goodbye to Hawke. Wish him luck. You, too, of course. I know you really wanted to go."

"Thanks Merrill." Carver smiles.

The elf doesn't give him a chance to finish; she moves as twitchy as a bird, hopping through the crowd spreading the courtyard. Carver watches until she joins Anders, Varric, Fenris, and Aveline who stand around Garrett. Even the devoted guardswoman finds time on her patrol to stop by and see his brother off. Carver would have been envious of his brother's popularity if it didn't attract such obnoxious riffraff. Working for Athenril and her band of smugglers for the past year hadn't really offer opportunity to make lasting friendships. Not the kind of associations Carver wanted. But Garrett has been content picking up every dangerous loner and misfit he stumbles across. Carver wouldn't call that much better. Not that he had anything against Merrill. She isn't short on problems, but at least she's honest. Innocent, even.

"Aren't you darling, stalking the object of your affection." Isabela croons.

Carver almost jumps. Again. His cheeks flush and he turns to face her. "Isabela, what do you want? My brother is over there."

Isabela crosses her arms beneath her chest, forcing her already ample bosom to swell considerably above the plunging collar of her shirt. She is watching him carefully. Maybe to see if he's going to leer? He wouldn't give her that kind of ammunition. "I'd have to be deaf and blind to mistake you for Hawke," Isabela laughs. "But you're exactly who I wanted to see."

"What for?" Carver regards her warily. "If you're thinking you can convince me to let you take my place on the expedition, you'd be wasting both our time."

"Convince you?" Isabela takes a step forward. The cut of her very short skirt flashes more bare thigh at him than he could see for free at the Blooming Rose. Somehow that one step brings Isabela _very_ close.

As he stares into her sunset-colored eyes, Carver realizes how much this woman terrifies him.

"I hadn't even considered that. But I wonder what I could possibly offer you to change your mind?" Isabela's eyes stray from Carver's big blues to his lips. She points her finger against the center of his chest. "You could make this easy. Or very, very hard."

Carver swallows thickly as she trails her fingertip from his sternum to his navel.

Her voice drops huskily. "I like it hard."

His heart skips inside his chest. "Stop joking. My brother would have my head if I ever touched you."

Carver is surprised when Isabela pulls back her hand. She stares at him strangely, maybe disbelieving? Carver thought for sure there was something between his brother and the Rivaini.

"I just wanted to say goodbye. So, goodbye." Isabela hesitates. "And, ah, take care of him for me."

Carver nods, relieved to have his personal space back. He glances over the crowd at his brother. Garrett spots him and gives a come hither wave. Carver knows without looking back that Isabela is gone, so he doesn't hesitate to trot over to Garrett. Carver is greeted with a supply pack, which he hangs off one shoulder. Everyone else is prepped and ready. The expedition's supplier, Bodahn Feddic, hauls the heaviest load complete with rations, tents, and anything else they might need during their extended vacation in the darkspawn-infested underground. Carver even thought he saw that weird contraption Bodahn's gifted son Sandal uses for enchantments added among the pile of goods.

"Ready?" Garrett grins.

"Born ready." Carver allows himself to smile.

Varric sidles up to Bartrand, Bianca slung over one shoulder. "It's been a long time coming, eh, brother?"

"That it has," Bartrand agrees. He raises a fist, rallying them all with a shout. "The Deep Roads await!"


	2. The Deep Roads Expedition II

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Deep Roads Expedition

Part II

**9:31 Dragon**

Carver finds it impossible to accurately count how many days have passed since passing through the tunnel entrance in the Vimmark Mountains. There is no morning, noon or night for Carver to judge by; there is only walking, arguing, and fitful slivers of sleep. Despite reassurances from Bartrand that the Blight has all but emptied the Roads, every dark crag and corner is regarded with the utmost suspicion; as if any moment the stifling darkness would empty of the inhumane creatures and swallow them.

The Deep Roads aren't what Carver expected. Crumbling tunnels and a sulfurous stench burped by lava trenches wasn't on his list. The first day of their descent Bartrand wouldn't stop talking about glorious halls, forgotten splendor, and superior dwarven dungeoneering. So far, Carver can't say he is impressed. Well, there was that one really big blood stain he saw a while back, surrounded by dusty skeletons whose bones have long been picked clean. That was sort of interesting. But after that Bartrand didn't talked quite as much.

By the fourth day – or five sleeps, Carver roughly judges – no one does a lot of talking except for Anders and Varric. Unfortunately, they don't care much for talking with each other. Carver elects to stay at the rear of the group, deliberating lagging out of earshot.

Garrett and his companions seem to take the hint and leave Carver alone. But for a while now Carver has repeatedly caught Anders looking in his direction. And, gradually, the mage has been drifting toward the back of the shuffling caravan.

"What are you looking at?" Carver demands, before Anders draws close.

"Your brother is a mage. As were your sister and father?"

He's been talking with my brother, Carver realizes. Those two are worse gossips than kitchen elves. "And I'm not. What of it?"

"Nothing." Anders shrugs. "It's not always passed on to siblings. But it's good to know you understand our plight."

"Shove your plight." Carver retorts tersely.

Anders peers down a straight nose, beady hazel eyes pointed at him. "You don't like me, Carver?"

"I don't like you."

"That's unfortunate," Anders sighs, "hating someone just because they're a mage is a shameful thing."

"I don't hate you because you're a mage. I hate you because you won't shut up about it." Carver rolls his eyes. "Oppression this. Templar that. I'd heard enough long before you."

The corner of Anders' mouth twitches. "Maybe it's time you put some thought into it."

Carver forms a crude gesture with his hand that succeeds in sending the mage sulking back to Garrett's side.

A few hours later Bartrand calls for camp. The hirelings scurry to obey. Carver sets up his own tent, which he finds to be barely more effective than a napkin over the face. The nicest thing it offers is something other than rock to stare at. While rigging it, Carver keeps an eye on his brother from across the small camp, wanting to catch him alone. When Garrett wanders from the campfire toward the shadows to take a piss, it's the best opportunity Carver is going to get.

Carver swallows the chunk of salted meat he has been working between his teeth and picks himself up from the ground. "Brother," He says quietly, approaching Garrett back, "we need to talk."

"Is that what we're calling complaining now?" Garrett quips, too preoccupied to look over.

Carver frowns. Garrett knew just what strings to tug to irk him. "You don't think I have a right to? This is supposed to be as much my expedition as it is yours, but it sure doesn't feel like it."

"And?"

"What can I say that I haven't already? It's pointless."

Garrett secures his belt buckle and turns to face him. "This 'second child' act is getting pretty stale, brother."

Carver scoffs. "Try it from this side! Always running after you, or taking care of mother while you go mark your territory."

"That's enough Carver." Garrett frowns.

Is he trying to sound like father now? Carver ignores him. "Even back home, what could I be? The lone blade in a house of mages. If I excelled it brought too much attention. That was a waste eh?" He mutters with a dry, mirthless laugh. "Could've found my fortune if Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway."

The moment the words take their reckless tumble off his lips, Carver knows he should not have said them. A choked silence erects an inscrutable wall between between them. It palpable enough to touch. Carver's hands, however, remain balled at his sides. He would rather bite his tongue clean off than apologize to Garrett for saying what's on his mind– sorry Bethany.

"Are you done?" Garrett says flatly. "Feel better after getting that off your chest?"

Carver falters, guilt worming its way through his chest. "I suppose."

"Good," Garrett steps toward him. For a moment Carver expects a punch to be thrown his way. Instead, Garrett angrily stabs a finger; "I keep every death with me. If you want that weight, be sure you're ready to take it."

Carver's eyes narrow beneath his pinched brow but he looks away in defeat. Garrett brushes past him.

"J-Just tell your pet mage to keep his distance." Carver stammers at Garrett's retreating figure. Well that wasn't a complete disaster, Carver inwardly kicks himself.

Carver doesn't hold to any illusion that the conversation between the Hawke brothers had been private. When the group packs up and heads out again, Carver isn't trouble by anyone's furtive glances or soapbox preaching. _I guess being on Garrett's bad side means no one wants to join you there,_ Carver could almost laugh about it.

The reprieve is brief. Only after a few hours out from their last camp, the signal to halt is given by Bartrand. Through the dim light suffused into the rock from the lava flows running along the tunnel walls, Carver squints to see why they've stopped. After a few restless minutes, Carver moves toward the front of their procession.

He sees a figure slink into view, approaching from the tunnel ahead. Carver recognizes the dwarf with the tattooed face; Varric had mentioned earlier that meant he was Casteless. Something which has to do with social classes in Orzammar. A bad thing to be, from what Carver could gather. Still, the Casteless dwarf's function as a scout has been indispensable; always operating ahead of the group, alone, looking for signs of trouble.

And trouble is what he's found, no surprise there. "There's been a collapse," the scout announces. "The way forward is blocked."

Beneath Bartrand's beard and thick mustache, his cheeks flush a menacing red. "What!" Bartrand takes a step forward. The scout warily backs up. "Is there some way around?"

"Not that I've been able to find." The scout reluctantly admits, raising his hands in supplication. "The side passages are too dangerous."

Bartrand stops and considers this, scratching his beard. No one reacts when Bartrand calmly swings his fist and connects his tightened knuckles against the scout's jaw. The poor dwarf drops.

"Useless!" Bartrand roars. "What am I paying you blighters for?"

Two human hirelings exchange glances and avoid looking at their employer, not wanting to be sacked next.

"Set camp!" Bartrand growls the command.

Carver keeps an eye on his brother; he knows too well that Garrett won't be able to resist trying to change their luck. Indeed, after observing a whispered conversation between Varric and Garrett, he watches them both set out to approach Bartrand. Carver is quickly on their heels, knowing whatever they have planned has got to be a lot more exciting than setting up camp between rubble and stalagmites. Just a slight change of scenery would be welcomed.

"Problems, brother?" Varric asks wryly, causing Carver to wonder, again, if the dwarf ever took anything as seriously as he should.

"Sodding Deep Roads!" Bartrand curses. "Who knows how long it'll take to clear the path?"

The anger and exasperation radiating from Bartrand makes Varric's smooth, reasoned voice even more compelling. "Shall we not try to find another way around instead?" Varric suggests. "Seems like the logical choice."

"You think I'm an idiot Varric? The scouts say the side passages are too dangerous!"

"We need to do something." Garrett pushes the idea. "Sitting out here in the open is just as dangerous."

"We'll take a look." Varric says. "If we come running back, screaming, you'll know staying put was the right decision."

"Fine, fine," Bartrand glowers, shaking his hands as if it would cast them off faster. "Find a way around. Just do it quickly!"

"I'm coming too." Carver levels his eyes at Garrett.

Garrett trades looks with Varric, who seems to encourage him with a slight nod.

"Fine. And Anders too." Garrett says.

"Great," Anders sighs, rubbing his forehead. "This is why I left the Wardens. I hate the blighted Deep Roads..."

_Then bugger off_, Carver thinks, failing to ignore the mage as he's planned.

"Er... I hate to add to your burdens my friends, but I fear I must." The merchant Bodahn plaintively approaches. Bodahn's weathered face is heavy and somber. "I fear my boy, Sandal, wandered off. He's somewhere in those passages right now!" The dwarf fretfully wrings his hands. "I beg you," He rasps, "keep an eye out for him. He just... doesn't understand danger like he should."

"One man out there alone? What are his chances?" Garrett's mouth tightens grimly.

"My boy is sturdier than you think. If he has one of his enchantments with him, he'll survive. He's burned down the house twice by accident."

Carver detects a faint note of affection at the admission.

"I'm just worried about him getting lost," Bodahn frowns. "Oh, my poor boy."

Garrett softens his tone. "When did you last see him?"

"Not a half hour ago. I turned my back to hand out rations, and he was gone! He gets so easily distracted. Ah, I should have been harsher with my warnings!"

"We'll look for him. We need to search the side passages. We'll bring him back, if we can."

Bodahn knows that's the best he can hope for. With sagging shoulders, he reluctantly returns to his camp duties. "Poor Sandal," He murmurs, "I can't believe he's done this!"

"Let's move quickly, then." Varric urges.

The side passage they choose to explore isn't a planned part of the Deep Roads. Its a natural occurrence, which poses it's own variety of dangers. Twice the four of them must squeeze through narrow spaces one at a time. Carver is made to swear not to tell that Varric was lodged between two rocks so tightly that it took nearly half an hour to pull him free. Afterward Varric was practically inconsolable when he discovered Bianca had been scratched.

Despite the difficulty of the terrain its clear they are not the first ones to travel this way; when the tunnel opens into a large cavern there are signs of a dig site. Abandoned, judging by the rusted picks and shovels half-buried in the dirt. The wood fortifying the dirt walls of a deep pit look soft with rot, bulging with its burden. Perhaps the prospectors here were mining for lyrium? The whole cave is illuminated in the crystal's soft blue glow.

"Oh." Anders rubs his chin.

Garrett pauses. "What is it?"

"I think my senses are a little rusty."

Carver reaches behind his head for the hilt of his sword. "Incoming!"

Darkspawn surge from the darkness, their flurried steps thumping wildly against the wood planks bridging the pit. They funnel across the rickety bridge, hissing like vipers. Maker, the sounds coming from them... With crude swords raised the first darkspawn wave hits.

"Bianca, baby, say hello!"

As Carver cleaves through a hurlock with a brutal downward stroke, a crossbow bolt sails by him. There aren't as many darkspawn in this tunnel that he and Garrett faced during their escape from Lothering. That's good. That means they should win. Carver raises the flat of his blade to block an attack, then uses the sword to push back. Forcing an opening, his blade slides between the hurlock's ribs. The creature's eyes bulge.

"That's how we do it in Ferelden!" Carver grins, kicking the hurlock off the end of his sword.

"That's another one for me!" Varric shouts. "How many have you got, Hawke?"

Instinctively, Carver turns toward the sound of his name. He shouldn't have. When has _he_ ever be the one _true_ Hawke? Sure enough, he sees Garrett fighting alongside the dwarf, sharing grins, spouting off another spell. A lance of lightning erupts from the ornamental staff in Garrett's hand and a smoldering hurlock collapses at his feet.

When Carver looks away, he notices an arrow has sprouted from his chest. Can't be. He touches the stain spreading around the shaft. His fingertips pull back coated in blood. Can't be... He'd only looked away a moment...

"Carver!"

"Hang on, Junior, we're coming!"

Carver staggers. He tightens his grip on the slender hilt of his greatsword, holding it so tight with both hands that his blood drains from the knuckles. _No. _Carver's eyes swerve toward a hurlock reloading it's crossbow. As the darkspawn raises the crossbow for another shot, Carver throws himself forward in a reckless charge. _I refuse to be rescued!_

Every breath dragged into his lungs draws a stab of pain from his chest. Carver feels as if his heart was threatening to burst. As he hauls his sword above his head, the hurlock meets death with a venomous hiss. It's neck crumples like an accordion as Carver piles his weight on, wedging the blade deep in it's skull.

Black ichor splashes his face and chest, dousing Carver with a revolting warmth. The reek of it invades his nose and mouth. The greatsword's rough braided hilt leaves Carver's hands as his uncontrolled momentum trips him over the hurlock corpse. He spills to the ground in a wave of red agony.

Hands instantly sieze him, roughly taking him by the arms, their fingers painfully digging in. Pinned on his back he struggles, trashing his head in vain hope that death won't come by darkspawn sinking their jaws into him and tearing out his throat.

He thinks of father and Bethany. _Maker take me._


	3. The Deep Roads Expedition III

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Deep Roads Expedition

Part III

**9:31 Dragon**

"Stop, Carver! Stop moving!" Garrett commands, wrestling Carver's squirming arms.

Carver opens his eyes. The faces staring down at him are out of focus. He blinks several times. It wasn't darkspawn which had grabbed him at all. But their hands pressing down his arms and legs, trying to calm him, is no mistake.

"D-Did we kill them all?" Carver woozily asks, wincing as he drags in a breath.

"Almost. But we made sure to give every one of them wounds to lick." Varric says with a chuckle.

"Try to relax," Anders instructs, kneeling at Carver's side, "I have to remove the arrow before I can attempt any healing. It's impossible for even magic to heal flesh around an implanted object."

Carver relaxes his body, letting his head sink back against the ground.

"On the count of three?" Varric offers.

"Ahhh!" Pain surges hotly through Carver's chest.

With an unceremonious yank, Anders holds up the bloody arrow.

"Maker take you!" Carver croaks.

Anders tosses away the arrow. "What? He said three."

After covering the puncture wound with his hand, a nimbus of pale light emanates between their contact. Carver's head begins to clear. He stares up at darkness while the tightness in his chest fades. The sensation of muscle and skin knitting back together is quite something to experience. Healing wasn't a skill in his brother's repertoire.

Carver sits up and coughs. An ache dully throbs in his chest but any appearance of a wound is completely gone. "Can't keep me down." He cracks a small smile.

"No unnecessary heroics," Garrett says sternly, offering his hand to Carver. He helps Carver to his feet. "We don't have the resources to patch you up every time."

Carver smirks. "Someone's got to be the hero. I say my turn."

"I'm sorry," Anders speaks up. "I let them get the drop on us. It's been too long since I've been down here. I wasn't paying enough attention."

"We'll be fine if we stick together." Garrett pats Anders on his shoulder. "Let's go."

They move with newly inspired caution with Anders their new lead. The mage insists on it. The lyrium embedded in the stone provides enough light to see their way. No one lets a hand stray from their weapons. The silence buzzes in Carver's ear, drilling into his head and leaving him feeling dizzy.

"That's strange," Anders says softly. "I was sensing a patrol of darkspawn up ahead, but now they're gone. Just... vanished."

"Let's make sure." Garrett responds as softly.

After a few hundred feet, they nearly trip over the bodies strewn across the passage floor. Carver uses the heel of his boot to roll one onto its back. There's no mistaking a darkspawn.

"Well I'll be a nug's uncle. Isn't that Bodahn's boy?"

Carver turns to look but another wave of dizziness arrests him. He pinches the bridge of his nose and waits for it to pass. The dizziness subsides but the space between his temples throb. _Shake it off, Carver_, he scolds himself. _ The mage gave you some faulty healing; you can handle it. _He joins his brother and companions down a slant of rock, where they gather around a stocky dwarf with short, wavy pale hair and notably beardless.

"Hello." Sandal grins, oblivious or not bothered by the blood splattered across his face.

"It is," Carver laughs, relieved. "The great warrior stands victorious."

Garrett sinks to one knee and looks into Sandal's vivid blue eyes. "Are you injured?" He glances over Sandal's blood-splattered appearance and is relieved to see none of the blood soaked into the boy's clothes belong to him.

Garrett sweeps an arm toward the dozen corpses they had to wade through to reach him. "How did you do this?"

Sandal offers something to Garrett. A stone?

"Boom." Sandal explains.

"And how did you do _that_?"

They all look at the frosty ogre monument frozen in mid-charge, not twenty feet away. Its icy edges glimmer in the lyrium's blue light.

"Not enchantment." Sandal explains. The young dwarf waves them goodbye, seeming to understand he's wanted back at camp. He turns away and walks back the way they had come.

"Smart boy." Varric observes, but even he is baffled by what they've seen. "Now, we better pick up the pace. Bartrand isn't known for his patience."

As they creep further away from the dig site, the outcrops of lyrium becoming more infrequent, until its blue-tinged light can no longer beat back the darkness around them. Carver grumbles about not having brought any torches, and they all agree to risk a small light in order to see their path ahead. The top of Anders' staff flares up. Unlike fire, which jumps about on a torch, Anders' staff shines a clear and unwavering light.

"I didn't hear you say Abracadabra." Varric says wryly.

"A verbal component is extremely rare, and then its mostly ritualistic." Anders glances up at the beacon on the top of his staff and the light's brilliance shrinks. Satisfied with the glow's radius – enough to see by but, hopefully, not enough to announce their presence – Anders walks a little faster.

"A mage needs to think of his happy place." Anders says.

"Mincemeat pie." Garrett smiles dreamily.

Varric snorts. "You're kidding."

"Just think of a wonderful thought."

After a moment of no further explanation, Varric sighs. "Alright Blondie, you've forced my curiosity: what's your happy place?"

"I have none."

"Well that took a dark turn."

The scratching of boot soles and the clack of staves on stone punctures the oppressive silence that follows. Their caution makes exploration a slow process but they do not encounter any darkspawn and that seems a fair trade.

What feels like hours later, the natural rock recedes and their footsteps take on a different tone; whatever is under their feet feels like paved flooring. Garret lights his staff and all eyes are moving up and down the walls of the corridor they've entered.

"Finally, something familiar." Garrett exhales, tilting back his head and gazing up the walls. Ancient cobwebs stretch across the corridor, thick as porridge. As the men stride through, their movements send ripples across the webs. Cascades of dust and mites are delineated in the staff's light as it swirls overhead.

Carver's nose itches as he breathes the musty air. "I'm surprised these tunnels don't simply collapse." He complains, cupping a hand over his nose and mouth.

Varric is cocky. "Dwarves made them."

"Then I'm surprised they're not smaller." Carver counters, eliciting a backwards glance from the dwarf. They share a grin.

The corridor hurtles forward beyond their ability to see, yet as they push on the air around them beings to lighten and warm. There is light ahead, it seems, but around a corner. As they approach it, the air continues to heat up. Varric uncomfortably rolls his shoulders inside his heavy leather coat. Anders looks as uncomfortable in his ridiculous feather pauldrons.

Carver fights a shiver instead, trying to squint through the poor light and the ache in his head. They turn the corner. At once a vortex of wind currents pounces upon them, tugging their clothes and pushing against them like small, invisible hands. Ahead of them the hallway connects to a large chamber filled with warm tones of red light. A sense of unease settles over Carver's bare arms as another gust blows against them, coming from the chamber. It carries an awful reek with it.

"What died?" Anders groans, cupping his nose.

"Do you hear something?" Garrett whispers.

Carver doesn't like that he whispers.

"Sounds like bat wings." Varric offers.

They reach the end of the corridor and the stench intensifies. It smells of rancid meat and shit. A low and threatening growl stops them at the end of the hall. The men glance at one another uncertainly and the light of the staves go out. Slowly Carver reaches his hand behind him and encloses his fingers around the hilt of his sword. It gives a small measure of comfort. He blinks rapidly, adjusting his eyes to the dim chamber.

A cacophony of chittering and low growls echoes around them.

"Do bats growl?" Anders jokes.

A large black shadow swoops toward them.

"Anders!" Garrett cries in alarm.

Garrett throws himself forward, tackling Anders around the waist. Both mages disappear, eclipsed by a massive bulk of scales as a serpentine creature smashes into the ground from above.

Tremors of its impact race up Carver's legs. _Maker's breath_, he stares.

They've walked straight into a dragon's nest.


	4. The Deep Roads Expedition IV

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Deep Roads Expedition

Part IV

**9:31 Dragon**

The drake swivels its head, which perches at the top of a long, svelte neck, and locks its serpentine eyes on Varric and Carver. It's nostrils flare as it rumbles with a growl. The beast looms over them, at least the height of one full-grown man stacked on the shoulders of another one.

Although small and sleeker than it's female counterpart, the drake is no less viscous. It lunges for Carver with a gnashing of dagger-sized teeth. In his peripheral Carver sees Varric deftly rolling out of the way of the charge. Before Carver can manage to swing his sword, the drake's fringed head catches him in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer. Carver is picked off his feet. He sails backward with no sign of slowing before the wall at the end of the hallway slaps him hard on the back. He drops like a sack of stones.

"Come here, you bastard!" Leveling Bianca at the drake's flank, Varric pulls the trigger in rapid succession. Each bolt nestles into the drake's thick hide. Reflexively the drake lashes out its back leg but Varric dances beyond reach.

Bellowing, the beast tries to squeeze itself into the hallway. Its claws gouge stone as it struggles in the tight space, its barrel-chest and unfurled wings in its way of reaching Carver, who lays in a dazed heap.

Varric winds a crank and reloads Bianca. To Varric's relief, he sees Garrett and Anders are both back on their feet and not worse for wear from their tumble.

Both mages even look a little pissed. Good.

Crooked fingers of electricity scrawl up and down the length of Garrett's arm. He brandishes his staff, coming to slam one end of it into the ground, unleashing a torrent of lightning. It leaps from the top of the staff and pounces upon the drake with a furious hiss. Like hot metal thrust into a barrel of water. With a roar of pain, the drake's body convulses in a series of violent twitches.

The agonized cries prod Carver and he groans, coming to his senses. He must have blacked out when he hit the wall. His empty hand gropes the dusty floor for a sign of his blade. He raises his head and a tide of dizziness swims over him, forcing his head back down. Refusing to give up, he plants his palms on the ground and slowly pushes himself onto his hands and knees. His head hangs like a weighted bucket.

The drake is thrashing not far away, twisting and wriggling to retreat the hallway. Freeing itself, the drake spins towards the dwarf and mages. A froth smears its black gums, reminding Garrett of a rabid mabari he'd once seen.

It thrashes, howling, as Anders strikes it in the chest with a blast of cold from his staff. The mage's eyes are aflame with the vengeful spirit of Justice. The howling crawls up the walls, shaking dust loose from the cavern over their heads.

"We're in trouble here!" Varric shouts, first to notice movement at the far corners of the room. A clutch of dragon juveniles creep toward them from both sides, their tongues tasting the air. Perhaps in anticipation for a nice dwarf-kabob and mage tar tar.

Anders glances at a handful of dragonlings approaching on one side. "Destructive forces of nature, coming up!"

"I'll cover you!" Varric says, catching the worried note in Anders' voice.

Anders begins conjuring. Varric unleashes another three-prong attack from Bianca, instantly killing the nearest dragonlings.

The drake locks its black eyes on Garrett, the end of its tail twitching like a cat eager to pounce. Garrett raises his staff, flame licking at his fingers. A fireball engulfs his arm in a noisy rush. The drake rattles the ground beneath their feet in a roar. With his own cry, Garrett lashes his arm forward, releasing the ball of fire. The tension coiled in the drake's back legs snap and the beast devours the gap between them in a single leap. The fireball explodes. The force of it staggers Garrett backward, the flash of light searing through the gaps in his fingers as Garrett raises a hand to protect his eyes.

The drake sails through the fire, wreathes of flame sliding across its scales no more effectual than garlands of silk. As at home in the blaze as a fish in the sea. Its outstretched claws rake toward Garrett, a rattle of fury in its throat. Garrett wields his staff, delivering a magic bolt with each deliberate sweep of the weapon, barely keeping outside reach.

None of their attacks give the beast pause.

"Anytime, Anders!" Garrett shouts, throwing himself out of the way of the drake's second charge. He rolls onto his back, only to find himself swallowed by the shadow of the beast.

One of its front claws slam him in the chest, effectively pinning him. He can't hear his ribs breaking over the rush of blood in his ears, but he feels it. Garrett yells in pain, too consumed by it to notice his breath swirling off his lips like fog.

It's gotten very cold, very quickly.

The blaze in Anders' eyes has corrupted the rest of him, lending ephemeral cracks to his skin from which shines the very essence of the Fade. A storm is brewing; while anders' long, slender fingers flourish meaningfully, roiling clouds as grey and choppy as the sea envelopes the ceiling.

Varric casts his eyes upward, Bianca sagging in his tired arms. Heaps of dead dragonlings surround he and the Grey Warden.

Carver manages to stagger to the opening of the chamber and leans heavily against the wall to catch his breath. Sweat dampens his hair and it clings to his forehead in dark, inky tangles. A cold wind brushes against him, dusting his hot skin with chips of ice. The droplets trail down his nose and arms, soaking into his blood-encrusted shirt.

Carver glances from Anders in all his magey might and sweeps his gaze across the chamber for his brother.

A deep chill sinks into Carver's bones when he realizes Garrett is trapped under the dragon's claw. A look of grief on their mother's face injects itself into his mind but he shakes it away. "Time to prove something," He whispers to his blade. Carver lurches forward, leaving his cover.

"Varric! Cover me!" Carver shouts, breaking into a run. Surprise crosses Varric's face to see him. But flashing a thumbs-up, Varric levels his crossbow against his shoulder and starts turning the drake's hide into a pin cushion.

The storm rages, slowing the drake down. It's movements are stiff and sluggish, its wings looking like wilted petals. Unfortunately, Carver feels himself succumbing under the same effect. But his advantage is knowing what to expect.

The drake bellows, tendrils of steam as thick as Carver's arms wafting out of it's mouth as it squirms in pain. Each shard of ice breaking against its skin probably feeling like the sharp end of a sword. Still, it refuses to relinquish it's prey. Garrett cries out again straining his hand toward his staff laying outside his reach.

"Rragh!" Ignoring his stiff muscles, Carver forces a final push to reach the drake. The beast notices him through the flurries of snow but not soon enough to stop him.

_You'll get one strike, make it count!_

With a cry of effort, Carver brings his sword down. His muscles feel like the frayed ends of a rope, barely holding him together. Only then does he realizes his shoulder is dislocated. Carver grimaces, planting the length of the blade inside the soft flesh of the drake's joint at the elbow. He falls to one knee, forcing the blade to carve through meat and tendon. He can feel the sword wedge into bone as he sags over the hilt.

A gout of flame blasts from the drake's mouth in an agonized roar. There is moment of warmth as melted snow rains down like a summer shower, but gone just as quick. The dragon flails it's wounded arm, blood gushing. Carver feels the floor leave his feet.

He sees Garrett laying on the ground below him. Freed. Varric hurries to help Garrett to his feet. Carver opens his mouth to yell, but another roar rips through the storm. The hilt slips out of Carver's hand as he falls. This time Carver remains conscience. Joy. He lands on his dislocated shoulder and stars explode across his vision. Through a haze of pain and the weakening drizzle of snow, he sees Garrett on his feet now, swaying but alive. Varric is playing defense with his crossbow and Anders is staying back on the other side of the room. But from that weird blue light around him, he's not out of the fight.

Varric lets loose another bolt. "I'm too good-looking to die this young. Hawke, we need to –" A violent sweep of a dragon tail knocks Varric half-way to Cumberland. Garret doesn't see the dwarf-shaped heap get up.

The spiked end of the tail returns for Garrett and he jumps out of the way. His consciousness flickers. "We need to finish this!" Garrett grits his teeth. He doesn't need a healer to tell him he's fractured every bone in his chest. He's barely standing and any chance of remaining upright is shrinking fast. An attack on him now will kill him.

The clouds that once stifled the chamber thin, leaving a cool wind ruffling Garrett's robes and sending gentle waves across the leather sails of the drake's wings.

The drake's wild eyes, so round and wide there is no whites to frame their corners, rivet on Garrett. It limps toward him, it's ravaged arm held close to it's chest.

"Anders!" Garrett backs up, each step laced with pain.

"As you say!"

The drake's maw falls open and the black well in it's throat begins to glow, flickering like embers breathing new life. Vapors of heat shimmer in front of the drake's nostrils, flame spreading across its tongue. Garrett frantically looks around for his staff, knowing he could never reach it.

"Anders!" Garrett shouts desperately, raising his arms, bracing himself. A wall of sweltering heat hits, but the consuming fire doesn't come.

"Hawke! Whatever you're going to do, I can't... keep it still...long..."

Garrett opens his eyes. The drake is completely still. Paralyzed. Even its black pupils are fixed to one spot; they don't follow when Garrett lurches toward his staff. He stops himself before trying to pick it up. They can't whittle away at it with conventional magic fast enough. Something more potent is needed.

_Like blood. _

"Hawke." Anders groans, sinking to one knee. Garrett looks around him in desperation. There is no choice.

He is almost finished carving the inscriptions into his skin when Anders' binding spell buckles. The words well with his blood. Dragon's fire blasts forth, the torrential outpouring swinging toward Garrett. He thrusts his hands into the ether and ensnares the drake with phantom approximations so enormous it looks like the Maker Himself is reaching through the Fade to quash his enemy. The dragon's body spasms, pinned like a moth held apart by its wings. Its flame sputters into harmless wisps.

With a snarl of effort, Garrett wrenches his hands apart. The drake is torn asunder in an angry red eruption.

Spent, Garrett can't resist swooning. He sinks to his knees, looking across the gore-soaked floor to see Anders wearily looking back.

Garrett offers a wan smile.

Varric sits upright with a cackle. "Hawke, you sure know how to get things done."

"That was nothing short of impressive." Anders agrees, slowly getting back on his feet. "It even got the attention of Justice." He walks toward Garrett, side-stepping the spreading blood pooling beneath the eviscerated carcass. As he draws close, Garrett notices how pale the Grey Warden looks.

"Are you feeling alright?" Garrett asks.

"Fine." Anders nods. "A little drained, but that's to be expected."

Garrett looks around. "Carver –"

"I'm here." Carver answers, laying on his back several yards away. He doesn't bother moving. It would be a bad idea with his arm out of its socket. Staying nice and still is a better idea, until his turn for healing. He listens to Garrett hiss in pain as Anders begins to knit him back together, murmuring fretfully over his injuries.

Carver chews on his lower lip as he frowns at the air. Did any of them even notice him when he attacked that dragon, freeing Garrett in the process?

_If it weren't for me, we'd all be dead!_ Carver thinks, bitter.

He's stood in the shadow of his big brother for so long, he's disappearing. And no one will notice when he's gone.


	5. The Deep Roads Expedition V

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Deep Roads Expedition

Part V

**9:31 Dragon**

Their rest is brief; remaining on the nesting grounds for any length of time is dangerous. As Anders points out, they cannot assume there aren't more drakes in the vicinity.

Carver feels he's barely caught his breath before Garrett urges them to move on. The others don't look half as weary as Carver feels, but then Carver is quick to account that he is the only one who's been shot in the chest with an arrow today. And tossed about like a rag doll. Considering what he's been through lately he won't complain about a couple nagging aches. He's damn proud of himself.

At the far side of the chamber is a staircase leading to a wide landing. Another hallway awaits them. They don't venture far before they discover a closed door at the end. Fortunately it is not rusted shut and they pull it open. Behind the door is a small room. More like a hub with several doorways branching off into new passages.

Varric announces with no small measure of relief: "Ah, here we go. This goes right where we want it to." He compares with a crumpled parchment from his coat pocket, to be certain. By peering over the dwarf's shoulder, Carver recognizes the scratches of ink as a rough copy of the Grey Warden map. Bartrand probably has the original.

Varric looks up at Garrett and nods. "Let's go tell Bartrand. He'll be so pleased."

Carver believes that as much as Varric seems to.

With their path back clear of darkspawn and beasties the return to camp is relatively quick. Everyone seems eager to get back and are in no mood for talk. Wasting no time upon their arrival, Varric makes a beeline for Bartrand.

"Bartrand!" Varric greets his brother with a savvy smile, giving no indication of the hell they went through. "We found a way around your damned cave-in!"

Judging by the way Bartrand has a scout cowering before him, they're interrupting something. But the moment Bartrand's eyes are off him, the scout quickly makes himself scarce. Bartrand turns to Varric and the humans, holding a waterskin in one hand and wiping his dripping mustache with the back of the other. "It's about time." Bartrand mutters irritably. From the fumes on his breath, maybe water is the wrong assumption. "Let's move out!"

They escort the expedition team through the side passage. The darkspawn corpses at the old dig site are the first darkspawn any of the others has ever seen and a few men moan as they walk by them. Anders reminds everyone to avoid touching any blood. The blood carries sickness. "It is likely that when we return this way, the area will be festering with corruption." Anders says grimly.

"Is there any way to deal with it?" Garrett asks.

Anders shakes his head. "You could burn the bodies, or bury them, but it wouldn't cleanse the air or the rocks. Everything they touch spoils. During the recent Blight, their mere presence shriveled entire crops; the land could be infertile for years. But at least there is a chance of recovery, in the future. A person who is infected by the disease, however, has no chance at a future."

Anders finally notices everyone has stopped and is staring at him.

"Cheery," Garrett flashes a smile. "How I do enjoy smalltalk."

At the dragon chamber, Varric takes the scouts ahead with him, leaving everyone else waiting in the hall. Everyone stands by in silence, tension stretching to a wire as the minutes pass. But no bloodcurdling screams come. Varric reappears, signaling the coast is clear. They hurry through the room, skirting around the body of the drake laying in a wide pool of its own blood, its chest cavity emptied of its contents. It's brood of young also lay littered across the floor, dead.

Carver is glad to put the grisly scene behind them. It isn't for a weak stomach, but Carver is still bothered by how that fight had ended. Carver single-handedly tipped the scales in that fight, freeing his brother from the dragon's imprisonment and dealing the beast a critical blow at the same time. Yet, because Garrett had apparently gotten the last shot off, he got all the bloody credit.

Well, all that is going to stop, Carver reminds himself. Soon.

To compensate for being waylaid an entire day, Bartrand insists on a forced march. Ha, not likely! There are days left to go and the team moves at a steady, deliberate pace despite Bartrand's caterwauling. The deeper they intrude on the forgotten ruin of the Roads, the more the distant past plays out before them. Carver is shocked when they cross a bridge. Bridges, underground! These occasional vistas are breath-taking, with rivers of fire flowing effortlessly around millennium-old rock.

Carver's legs feel like falling off by the time they camp. He doesn't even consider pitching a tent for himself; he'll sleep where he falls. This time, he's sure to sleep deep. Carver drops his pack, which is considerably lighter since when the expedition began. He slips off the leather straps to his sword sheath and gently leans the greatsword against one of many chunks of rock that apparently has fallen from the crumbling ceiling. Not the most comforting thought to lull one to sleep.

"I owe you a great debt, I swear my life on it!" Bodahn's exuberant voice draws Carver's attention. There is a line gathering behind Garrett, waiting on rations to be handed out by the merchant. But Bodahn is busy shaking Garrett's hand.

"No need," Garrett says, accepting his supper ration from Bodahn. "I'm glad Sandal was all right."

"Because of _you_." Bodahn beams. "You will not regret this. Say thank you to the nice man for saving your life, Sandal."

Sandal pauses chewing on a strip of salted beef. "Thank you."

If Carver already didn't have an appetite, he would have lost it then. Garrett could have at least said, _oh, I had help._ How infuriating!

Anders, standing at Garrett's side like a second shadow, doesn't even seem to notice what words are being exchanged. Nor would he care; Carver has noticed the way Anders looks at his brother. Too smitten to have any pride. Carver vows to throw himself on his sword before turning into such a sap.

"You know, Junior, you're looking at all this wrong."

Carver gives a start. Blast these dwarves; they knew how to sneak up on you. "Whatever it is you're about to say, I'm not interested." Carver turns, putting the spectacle of Garrett behind him.

"I'm a professional younger brother," Varric says in his smooth, husky timbre. "Trust me, the center of attention is the worst place to be."

Did the storyteller just read his mind? He looks at Varric suspiciously. "Get to the point."

Varric smiles warmly. "When things go wrong, and they always do, that's where all the fingers point. Look at any kingdom in Thedas; you've got people who warm thrones and people nobody sees that do the real work."

Carver sighs, heavily. "So my brother is a king now. Just what he needed."

Varric cocks an eyebrow. "Point: Missing it. Ah well." Sticking a strip of jerky between his teeth, he holds it like a fine cigar and strolls away.

Carver shakes his head, at himself mostly. He then must shut his eyes, as even that movement breathes new life into the ache in his head. The artificial darkness does nothing for the pain radiating down his neck. Sleep is now far less likely. Is he meant to suffer like this until he can visit an apothecary on the surface?

"Do you have a moment?"

He is too weary to disguise his surprise at seeing Anders approach him. "I'm in no mood." Carver responds, dour.

Anders leans against a boulder. "I'm just here to... see how you're feeling."

"Never better. Go away." Carver lowers himself to the ground, refusing to look at the mage in a concerted effort to will him away.

"I see." Anders glances over his shoulder, considering a possible retreat? Not so lucky. "It must be hard being around so many darkspawn. After what happened to your sister."

Dear brother needs to stop spreading that sob story around. "I'd happily spend the rest of my life doing nothing but making them pay. For everything."

Anders blinks, not expecting to hear that. "Have you thought about joining the Grey Wardens?" He asks sincerely. "They've got a whole club for people just like you." What he wouldn't give to return his membership card.

"If I did join the Wardens, you can be bloody sure I wouldn't run away to go live in some sewer." Carver retorts.

Anders stiffly straightens. "But we'd all be so sad to see you go."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere."

Carver wakes to a hand roughly shaking him by the shoulder, not even aware of having fell asleep in the first place. "We're leaving," Garrett says, satisfied when the slits of Carver's eyes open. Carver groans as he sits upright, feeling cold and stiff all over. It's going to be another fantastic day.

Carver stops paying attention to his surroundings. It blurs together, one tunnel indistinguishable from the next. The hours spent pushing forward sap his strength, the faint din of men quietly talking and their shoes scuffing beat against Carver's ears almost painfully. They eat their meals while they walk, although Carver eats nothing. His stomach rebels at the mere thought of food. _It's this place, it's beyond depressing. What I wouldn't give for a little sunlight, or the smell of mother's cooking. Or fresh air._

Presently, Bartrand has refused stops for rest; the thaig could lie just ahead. We've been hearing that for a while, Carver thinks. When the Road discreetly ends, they start to believe it too. They begin a new descent, this one not as drastic as when they first entered the Roads, but far longer. Carver wagers they spend an entire day in rocky tunnels. Everyone is too tired and too invested to worry about being lost, though it crosses Carver's thoughts several times.

When they reach the thaig, Carver doesn't even realize it. No one does. They enter a half-collapsed passage and pick their way through the shambles of what must have once been a gateway. Light fails here; the warm tones of the Roads are starkly absent. It is blue shadows and deep gloom. That is, until they emerge from the debris and step onto a veranda overlooking a dark, empty city.

"Holy Shit." Varric breathes.

The first thing Carver notices is that the thaig is remarkably intact. He'd formed the assumption that this place would look like the Roads; barely holding together by time and the ravages of corruption. Carver feels himself drawn forward, as are the others; they walk toward a precipice and gaze out. Light and shadows weave together, highlighting edges of stone and teasing at the depth of the domain.

"Is this what you were expecting?" Garrett quietly asks.

The shake of Bartrand's head is slight, at best. He can't take his eyes off the city. "I thought... an abandoned thaig, something old, but... What is this?"

"How did you even know it was here?"

Carver thinks that question would have served them better while they were on the surface.

"Old scavenger tales. After the Third Blight. A week below the surface, they said... but nobody believed them."

Varric scratches behind his ear. "Looks like they were right."

Bartrand's takes a deep breath and expunges his awe. "Make camp here!" He bellows. He glances at Varric. "We need to look around."

The hirelings move slowly, as intrigued and wary by their new surroundings as they are fatigued by the journey to get here. Carver puts his pack down and adjusts the weight of his sword hanging off his shoulder. He is right to assume he will need it soon; Bartrand is eager to start the treasure hunt and has already scavenged through the rubble strewn across the veranda.

"I don't get it. Nothing in this thaig makes sense." Bartrand complains.

"Why's that?" Garrett asks.

"We're well below the Deep Roads. Whatever dwarves lived here, they came well before the First Blight." He sweeps his arm. "But where are the statues of the Paragons?" His vexation has flushed his face. "I don't recognize these markings on the wall or anything in the rubble."

Garrett shrugs.

Carver doesn't share the dwarf's concern either.

"Who knows how old these ruins are. Maybe your people were different back then." Garrett offers.

Bartrand stabs a finger in Garrett's direction. "I know enough about our history to know we haven't changed much. Dwarves have been mired in tradition for many ages. These dwarves might have been unique." He mutters to himself, scrubbing a hand over his chin. "If so, I hope they kept their valuables close at hand."

Carver can agree with him there. As Garrett and Bartrand discuss logistics, Carver's eyes are pulled toward the silent city. So quiet it almost hums. He can hear it; the entire thaig is pregnant with mystery and untold riches.

He smiles.

Nothing will come between him and his destiny now.


	6. The Primordial Thaig I

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Primordial Thaig

Part I

**9:31 Dragon**

This thaig is ancient and Bartrand says that's putting it mildly. This thaig is unlike any Bartrand is familiar with, or the other dwarves in their group for that matter. With only the dwarven capitol Orzammar and a couple recently reclaimed thaigs as references, Bartrand has already announced they have uncovered something unique. Carver can see calculations of coin and contracts in Bartrand's bright, steely eyes as he talks.

Carver must admit he is under the power of this place as well; when he gazes out from the veranda where they are camped, he sees through the stone city like its a fisher's net, at the prize beyond. Freedom, foremost. His. He's been searching for it all his life, buried under the troubles and concerns of his apostate family. Always on the run, dodging templars and Chantry zealots. When father finally chose to settle in Lothering, Bethany and Garrett's training came first. _They_ came first.

Carver was never offered a direction. Searching for one has only brought disruption to the tenuous peace their father built for them. But Carver could never just sit on his hands. He's only able to use a sword because he begged every traveler with a blade on their hip who came through the village to teach him how. And his skills have served the family in times of need.

But joining the Ferelden army to fight the darkspawn at Ostagar was the closest Carver came to having a real purpose. When the tide of the battle swallowed up King Cailan, his military career shared that doomed. It's been two years since that night, but Carver has carried that bitterness with him.

He won't give up his search. He's stubborn, like his big brother. Maybe that's why he and Garrett don't like each other. They're too much the same; Father used to say something like that. Carver believes it has more to do with Garrett acting like the Maker's Light shines out his ass. Those differences have been put aside, for now. They've got a thaig to explore.

Garrett gathers together Carver, Anders and Varric. Carver makes sure to keep Anders at a distance. The mage is not on his good list. After Carver had been attacked by a hurlock a few days ago, Ander's healing of Carver's wound was less than stellar; ever since, Carver suffers a persistent headache. Which pairs wonderfully with the aches and pain sleeping on a rocky floor will do for you.

Anders seems not to notice Carver step to the other side of Varric. The Grey Warden is too occupied with making sappy eyes at Garrett, nodding to Garrett's every word as he finishes speaking on the points of their mission.

"We are the first to leave camp and enter the thaig." Garrett reminds them. "We will stay together at all times. Use of caution should be obvious." Although Garrett's dark eyebrows and thick beard frame a gruff demeanor, Carver knows the look in his brother's hazel eyes well. It's the same excited glint he was used to seeing when they were boys. Usually when the two of them were up to no good together.

Carver realizes he's smiling. He quickly schools his expression into something akin to seriousness. "We've taken down a dragon and dozens of darkspawn. I'm sure we can handle whatever may be inside." Carver says confidently, arms crossed.

"Don't forget about that spider's nest we walked into." Varric shudders. "I can't."

Garrett only nods in agreement. With their weapons in hand, Varric leads the four of them down a series of cascading stairways made of cracked stone. His deep-set eyes are alert, sweeping the floor for signs of traps. They pass several verandas, some intimately small, others wide and deep enough to accommodate every elf in the Alienage standing shoulder to shoulder. Carver hasn't an inkling what the venues were used for.

"Do you hear that?" Anders' question holds an edge.

"Like singing. I assumed it's the lyrium." Garrett says.

"Yes! But it's like I'm sensing a horde, far away, only... different. There are no darkspawn nearby. I wonder what's causing it."

"I don't hear anything." Carver raises an eyebrow.

"Me neither." Varric shrugs.

"Mages do." Anders replies, but that is the end of the conversation.

They reach the bottom of the winding steps. The air is still and cool. Gloom latches onto everything; Carver feels like they are walking through a bog of murky light. The further they walk, the more dreadful the sensation of being watched.

"The Veil here is thin." Garrett and Anders uneasily murmur to one another.

"Hmm." Varric holds up one of his gloved hands as they draw close to another set of stone steps. "Whatever's through here, it seems still intact." He muses, fiddling with Bianca's strap against his shoulder. "Think we'll find anything?"

"You don't seem excited." Garrett observes. "Bartrand is far more enthralled with this place than you are."

Varric is amused by the comment. "Unlike him, I wasn't born in Orzammar. I wouldn't even be down here if there wasn't profit in it."

"I don't blame you." Anders sighs.

"This entire place gives me the chills," Varric admits. "Let's hope it's worth it. But I suppose we'll have to go down there to find out."

They take the steps down. It is wide enough that they can walk in pairs. The sounds of their footfalls is muted. As they near the bottom steps the air around them seems to _change_. Carver can't quite describe it but it raises the hair on the back of his neck.

"Thin may have been understating it." Garrett complains, several Shades looming up from the darkest corners. They float toward them, moving with all eagerness toward the mages. Their presence here has torn the tenuous barrier between this world and the Fade; father constantly warned against dangers such as this. _Man is not a mage's greatest foe. _All manner of demons could be upon them in moments.

Battle erupts on the very steps. Faster than he and Varric can grab their own weapons, Anders and Garrett are slinging magic bolts and lighting the place up with fireballs.

Carver uses both hands to pull free his sword, slicing at the nearest Shade. The blade cuts but merely divides the demon's body like a hand parts smoke. It got the demon's attention at least. Carver backs up the steps as the Shade continues to glide toward him. He plants a heel to brace himself, then lunges pointy-end first.

Anders is fast with a staff but worries he will accidentally hit Garrett if he is not careful. Justice is beholden to no such concerns; Anders feels the scorch of the spirit's ire under his skin. Anders clenches his staff tighter and reminds himself who is in control. Harboring a Fade spirit inside of him is an illiberal occupation; it frightens him to think he is but one step from an abomination. Some would say he is beyond toeing the line.

_Act now, brood later._

Anders blinks sweat from his eyelashes and slams the butt of his staff into the ground, unleashing an unseen force that pushes back the Shades converging upon him.

No one noticed where the dwarf disappeared to. Which is how Varric likes it. Can't get the drop on somebody if they know you're coming. At the bottom of the steps, behind cover, Varric levels his crossbow and systematically begins picking off Shades worn down by his teammates. He hasn't had this much fun since he won his pants back from Isabella over a hand of Wicked Grace.

The last thing he expects is to be ambushed himself, so of course that's exactly what happens to him. Hands gnarled with wicked fingers claw at his back, scratching at his leather coat in such a frenzy that Varric shouts in surprise. He tries to roll over and get a shot off but the Shade on him is flailing like a lunatic. Varric hopes for the best and squeezes the trigger.

Miss.

"Thanks for the friendly fire!" Garrett shouts sarcastically.

"Nurse Blondie will kiss it better!" Varric grins, planting his boots into the...uh... torso, if he had to guess, of the Shade trying to gouge his eyes out. He pushes, hard. The Shade wheels back only for a moment but that's all the wiggle room Varric needs.

"I'm not kissing anyone!" Anders protests over the roar of flames. "I haven't seen anyone brush their teeth since we came down here."

Rolling to his feet, Varric smoothly reloads Bianca and puts a bolt in the Shade's noggin before it could say _Varric wins_. "One more for the dwarf!"

They may not bleed but they can be beaten. Carver dispatches another one, clearing the top tier of the stairs. His chest heaves; regaining his breath is a chore. Although the fight was hardly a prolonged one, sweat pours off of Carver, saturating his hair. The sensation of his tunic sticking damply to his back isn't a pleasant.

"Andraste's ass," Varric grumbles, "dwarves actually lived here, on purpose? What in blazes for?"

Regrouping at the last step, they agree to push further in. A fragile Veil is unexpected but manageable. So far. No other demons or phantoms appear as the men explore. They walk the accessible lanes and alleyways, the turns sharp, the paths straight. Carver wonders what this place might look like if they found a vantage point high enough; a better view might reveal there is a pattern to the confusion. Something about this fallen thaig just isn't sitting right with him; the more of it he sees, the less a city it feels like. At least as a city by human standards. There are altars instead of wells and temples instead of huts. And no convenient treasure chests. It's hard to imagine anyone actually living here.

"Over here." The clean light at the top of Garrett's staff winks to life. Garrett stretches out his arm, casting the sharp lines of illumination across a lane hip deep in ruins. Just beyond them lay a door. Sealed, from what Carver could tell. But they all sense what Garrett did: opportunity. In silent agreement they begin climbing over the chunks of a fallen column barring the way.

"There are markings on this wall," Varric shakes his head, "I can't make heads or tails of it."

"'Finders, keepers'?" Anders suggests.

Varric cackles. "'Have My Stuff All Ye Who Enter Here'."

"It's been rusted shut for centuries." Garrett strains with the door, yanking until his arms are taught. "Carver. Help."

Carver steps forward and wraps his hands below Garrett's, then pulls. "Must be." Carver mumbles, unable to budge the door. The fight sapped his strength, leaving his arms feeling like bread pudding, but saying so would be humiliating. Maker, he's suppose to be a warrior. After a long struggle, the edges of the doorway crack. Dust trails the door as swings open.

A warm red light bathes them as they step into the chamber. The floor, walls and pillars look to be carved out of rock as red as blood. The chamber reminds Carver of the Chantry because of it's deep almost foreboding reverence, though these places share nothing in terms of appearance. Except demonstrating a perverse enjoyment in making people walk an awful lot of steps.

Carver gazes up at the gigantic columns lining the long, narrow floor. They pass several sets of them before climbing several tiers of steps. Anticipation plucks at Carver's nerves, playing them like a lyre. He badly wants to rush up the last steps and see what lay waiting for them at the top. But no one hurries. The last steps are a weight around Carver's ankles.

"Do you see what I'm seeing?" The creases at the corners of Varric's smiling eyes are nearly giddy.

They step toward an altar.

"Is that... lyrium?" Surprise flashes across Garrett's face.

Carver raises an eyebrow. His brother may see lyrium but all Carver sees laying on the altar is a strange... something. Statue maybe, or a ritual tool. There is the recognizable shape of a woman amid its gaudy appearance, but with the face of corpse with sunken eyes. Right. Of course it was going to be creepy.

"It's definitely magic." Anders says quickly. He raises a hand in forewarning. "And not the good kind."

Varric rubs his thumb against his jawline. "Doesn't look like any lyrium I've ever seen." He looks up at Garrett and notices in the corner of his brother enter the chamber. Bartrand stands at the bottom of the steps leading up to the altar.

"Look at this Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune."

Bartrand whistles, impressed. "You could be right." He murmurs. "Excellent find."

There's those cold eyes again, Carver thinks.

Garrett steps forward and reaches for the idol. Anders shifts his feet uncomfortably but says nothing when Garrett decides to pick it up. After handing it to Varric, the dwarf tosses the idol into the air toward Bartrand. Carver chokes on his own surprise. Just how many priceless artifacts do they think they're going to stumble across, that they can afford to play catch with them?

"Not bad." Varric says. "We'll take a look around, see if there's anything further in."

Carver remembers to breathe after he sees Bartrand catch the idol. "You do that." Bartrand says above a whisper. He turns away, looking at the idol. The face in the idol stares back. Something sinister passes from one to the other.

In that moment, both are bound.

No one notices that the door is moving shut until there is only moments left to act.

"The door!" Garrett exclaims.

Carver is almost on top of Garrett the next moment as they rush down the steps. Carver's pulse crashes against his temples as he pushes himself to reach the door. If only he weren't feeling so weak, he could have made it. But even Garrett, who is first to cross the floor, can't stop that door from slamming shut. The echo of the door sealing shut lingers over them. Their fingers dig into the door anywhere they can manage, pulling with all their might, but the door will not budge.

"Bartrand!" Varric calls, "It's shut behind you!"

There is a moment when they stop their struggle, their wide eyes suspended with disbelief.

A baleful laughter seeps through the door. Familiar in all the wrong ways. "You always did notice everything, Varric."

Varric sucks in an incredulous breath. "Are you joking? You're going to screw over your only brother for a lousy idol?"

"It's not just the idol." Bartrand's voice is the very sneer Carver imagines he's wearing. "The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I'm not splitting that three ways." The heavy sound of Bartrand's boots is muted by the door as he walks away. "Sorry, Brother."

He doesn't sound very sorry.

"Bartrand!" Varric yells, slamming his fists against the door. "Bartrand!"

Silence.


	7. The Primordial Thaig II

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Primordial Thaig

Part II

**9:31 Dragon**

"Bartrand!"

The echo of the door to the ancient chamber sealing shut reverberates in Carver's ears. So too does the despicable dwarf's laughter as he abandons them to rot.

Varric rests his forehead against the rusted metal slab. "I swear I will find that son of a bitch – sorry, mother – and I will kill him!" He slams his fist against the door and drags in a steadying breath.

Garrett places a hand on Varric's shoulder. After a long moment, Varric's fist slides down and falls to his side. He sighs. "Let's hope there's a way out of here."

"May the darkspawn take him." Anders says bitterly, turning away and rubbing his forehead. Trapped beneath the Deep Roads infested with darkspawn, what more could a Grey Warden ask for? A very different kind of Warden than Anders. Muttering curses, Anders stalks away from the door.

Carver can't accept it. His freedom, his dreams, all gone. He stands there, his arms awkward, his face as blank and pale as a sheet. "This is your fault."

Garrett slowly turns to look at him. Carver feels the eyes of the others turn on him as well.

"This is your fault!" Carver says again, this time with anger.

"Now isn't the time." There is an edge of danger in Garrett's eyes.

Carver laughs. It is hoarse and humorless. "Isn't it? I think we have all the time in the world!"

"Junior, Hawke's right – "

Carver lashes his hand at the air, effectively cutting Varric off. "No. He knew what kind of man Bartrand was. We should never have trusted him. Our fearless, careless leader invited this to happen."

Varric glances furtively at Garrett. "No one could have predicted this." Varric looks down at the tops of his shoes. "I know what a rat bastard Bartrand can be, but to maroon me, his only family, in this pit? I never would have believed him capable. Or creative enough."

"I can't believe you're defending him," Carver balls his hands, "both of them!"

"We were all betrayed." Garrett snaps. "Don't make this about you."

The words hit Carver with blunt force. Speechless, he takes a step toward him. Garrett shifts his weight and holds his staff close. Does he feel threatened? Carver wonders, feeling it would be long overdue.

"We don't need to go there." Varric steps between them, hands raised and forehead creased.

"Are both you and Anders so content to look the other way? You don't get to be a leader when you do not own the responsibility of your mistakes!"

"This isn't about me, or us." Garrett responds icily, "Ever since we left Kirkwall you've been acting like an ass. Varric put himself on the chopping block just to give us a chance to make a better life. Anders needn't have done more after giving us the maps but he's here without any profit for himself, just to see us succeed. We owe these men, and our friends in Kirkwall, more than your sanctimonious bullshit."

"I never asked for friends! I never asked for any of this!" Carver clenches his jaw. "I wanted to stay at Ostagar. I wanted to fight. If you hadn't insisted we run back to mother..."

"Then you would be dead." Garrett spits out. "But did I drag you by your hair? You chose to leave the fight. You didn't want to, but you did. You can't keep blaming me for that. Just like you can't keep blaming me for every misfortune you encounter. It's time you face facts and grow up."

Carver glares caustically at Garrett, whose nostrils flare as he keeps his lips tightly drawn. The air seems too thick to breath as Carver pulls in a deep breath through his nose. His heart races on. The both of them tense, waiting for words to turn to blows.

Maybe we should, Carver thinks; maybe it's just time we stop kidding ourselves.

"Maim each other when we get back to Kirkwall. I'm sure Isabela will be thrilled to arrange a duel behind the Hanged Man." Varric admonishes, his hands still raised as if he could possible stop two men from killing each other.

There is no response for several long, uncomfortable moments as each Hawke considers the idea.

"Agreed." Garrett takes a step back, one end of his staff drooping toward the ground.

"Same here." Carver nods, letting the tension seep from fists.

Man to man, brother against brother. It would be a long time coming. Words never could solve their differences, not before this and not now. Carver is certain this is the only way to get the respect he deserves. If only Bethany were alive so she could see it happen. Or father.

Varric is satisfied. "Now that we're all properly motivated, let's get out of here."

They drag themselves up the tiered steps, feeling far more weary than when they had entered the room. Anders is already standing near the altar to greet them. He's been studying the patterns engraved into the stone.

"While you two were hugging it out, I found another door." Anders glances between them.

Garrett steps forward. "Then let's not waste any more time."

Carver tries to hold on to his anger at Garrett, but as they open the door and enter a new corridor, Carver's anger burns like shame when he notices Anders avoids looking at him. Even Varric seems to ignores his presence, only mustering a halfhearted shrug when Carver catches his eye. _How am I the bad guy?_

As they move through the darkness, Carver runs his fingers along a smooth stone wall to remind himself it's there. Neither Garrett and Anders light their staves. When they come to a fork, they stop to consider their choices. Carver gathers by the way Garrett and Varric are watching Anders in silence that he's doing his weird Grey Warden meditation thing; a sixth sense that lets him know if darkspawn are nearby.

Anders has been vigilant about using that ability ever since their first major run-in with the darkspawn. Maybe he's sorry about not preventing an earlier darkspawn ambush. That fight had put an arrow in Carver's chest, and he's felt like shit ever since then.

Leaning against the wall, Carver watches Anders and lets himself wonder if maybe – big maybe – he could stand to be a little nicer. No sense in burning bridges before he's finished crossing. They will all need each other's help to make it out of the Deep Roads alive.

Satisfied, Anders points to the left. They are stopped by another door.

"One gold says we find their cellar of stinky cheeses." Varric says. "Any takers?"

Anders and Garrett yank the door open. Carver's heart plummets into his stomach but not from the stench of centuries-old cheese. That would have been preferable to what is actually waiting for them inside the room.

"Shut the door!" Carver cries.

Shades swarm so thick their black bodies look like the very abyss.

"Do. Not. Want." Varric backs up.

"What is it?" Garrett calmly asks, still standing behind the door.

The Shades surge forward, screeching with their formless mouths.

"The door!" Carver screams, throwing himself against it. They all push and the door slams shut. Dust and debris rains down from the ceiling. Carver stumbles back, expecting the demons to ram against the door en force. Or simply pass through the wall and overwhelm them. Neither happens, thank the Maker.

"I – I didn't know..." Anders starts.

"It wasn't darkspawn." Garrett says, watching Carver.

Carver shakes his head. "Demons."

"Quickly, the other way." Garrett frowns, breaking into a run. Carver looks over his shoulder several times, each time afraid he will see disembodied eyes burning through the darkness.

The corridor gradually opens up and the walls spreading further apart. The ceiling gives way to a natural cavern. Soft blue light submerges the red stone paving their path. Carver looks up to see massive veins of lyrium branching out from one part of the enormous chamber to joining with a far wall. It makes him think of an oak tree growing sideways.

"Ah, stairs. How I missed you." Varric says dryly.

"At least they're going down." Says Carver, relieved. The stairwell they take down looks like a comfortable place to sit and have a rest. But he doesn't dare mention it. If they should think he were whining like a ponce, he couldn't bare it.

After the stairs vanish in the distance behind them the hall comes to an abrupt end, as if the dwarves who had been chiseling the rock for centuries finally got bored and stopped. Or the demons killed them all. Maybe they could ask the Shades, Carver sardonically thinks to himself.

As if summoned by the very thought, Shades appear from the air – or pass through the Veil, his father or brother would say. They billow up the steps that wing the end of the hall, closing around them.

"Take them out quickly before the Veil tears!" Anders shouts, looking around with spooky blue flame for eyes. Even Anders' voice changes when that spirit inside him comes out.

Anders' warning proves a good motivator; dispatch of the Shades is over with quickly. Carver plunges his sword through the thinned, nearly transparent body of the last one and it collapses into an inky puff and disappears.

They hurry down a second level which could have been a veranda in the making. There are stone ledges half-worked into stairs which they use to jump down to the bottom floor of the cave. Whatever room the dwarves had meant to build here has only one passage leading out. They head toward it, encouraged by a dim light filtering in from the natural corridor.

As they near the tunnel the light becomes brighter and seems to take on life, like a lantern swinging from someone's hand. Garrett holds out his arm in alarm, but everyone has already noticed and stopped in their tracks.

A faint thudding sound intensifies, until all Carver can think of is that the tunnel is collapsing. The sounds is like rocks tumbling together.

"Maker's Breath –!"

The first creature emerges. It swaggers on two huge chunks of rock for legs and slabs of rock for arms, held together by currents of energy shining brighter than any torch. Its head is a skull that looks to have belonged to a dwarf once, fixed atop its body like a morbid hat. Guess the dwarf hadn't been using it. It's empty eye sockets point in their direction and the monster heads toward them. As it leaves the tunnel, more creatures just like it step forth. That loud clamor, like smashing rocks, is their very footsteps as they march into the cave.

Garrett brandishes his staff and it erupts in flames. He stabs it in the direction of the first rock creature and a fireball violently smashes it to pieces. It's light goes out and its former arms and legs fall down and roll away.

Carver doesn't appreciate how easy the magic made it look after he's charged into their line. His sword strikes at stone and leaves only grooves. He hits repeatedly, using the large blade as a shield when he can. The creatures gather around him, swinging their arms like hammers.

He braces himself as two of these abominations crash against his defense. He shoves with the flat of his sword but a castle wall would sooner be moved. Carver can see his arms shaking, threatening to buckle. If that happens, he'll be stomped to death. He digs into himself for strength but his reserves are almost empty.

There is a sound of splitting bone. Carver looks up and see a crossbolt sticking out of the shattered skull of the creature pushing against Carver. The light glowing in its sockets fade. Carver pulls back far enough to flip his sword in the desired direction and stab into the pulsing core of light in its center.

The creature wheels around like a wind-up toy gone haywire. The toes of Carver's boots drag the ground as he holds tight to the hilt, shoving it further in. It's brilliant core goes blindingly white and with a shudder it explodes. The nearest rock creatures go down with it in a shower of debris. Carver flies back, landing on his stomach.

Magic bolts sizzle in the air. Lights are flashing all over, streaks of fire and lightning washing away all color. The strange, intangible cords holding the creatures together begin to flicker and vanish as they each succumb to their attackers. They each take turn collapsing like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

"Bloody flames! What were those things?" Varric gapes at a rock by his feet. He nudges it. The cave looks a lot more like a quarry now.

"I don't think I want to know." Carver sits down on a chunk rock that was formerly a part of a creature's hauberk. He hangs his head over his knees. In, out. He breathes. In, out. But his insides are too topsy turvy to be calmed. A moment later, Carver retches into the dirt.

"Are you alright?" Garrett asks uncertainly.

"Fine." Carver looks at the ground between his feet and spits. His mouth tastes like bile and the salty meat he ate two days ago.

"I soiled my robe when I saw those things." Anders says, trying to lighten the mood.

Varric laughs but it rings hollow against the stones.

Everyone knows they must move forward, into the passage where those rock monsters came from, know they could be marching into a death trap.

"We need rest." Garrett decides. "I'll take first watch. Get sleep if you can; use your rations sparingly. It will take time to make it make to the surface."

Carver glances up at his brother with eyes rimmed red. "If you're saying this because of me, I said I'm fine. We can't afford to stay in one place. We don't know anything about those rock monsters or if they'll be more but the demons at least know you're here; they'll return for you and Anders."

"If we push ourselves too hard, we won't make it out of here. We're hardly standing as it is."

Carver hides his relief behind a frown. "You'll wake me if there's trouble."

"I think you mean _when_."


	8. The Primordial Thaig III

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Primordial Thaig

Part III

**9:31 Dragon**

"Getting... Getting tired of following you!" Carver shouts above the shrill screaming of the Shade writhing on the end of his blade.

"Don't be coy." Garrett smirks as he evades the burning hands of a Rage demon. "Tell me how you really feel."

Carver twists his sword hilt and yanks upward, splitting the Shade's head. It swirls into the air like smoke while the rest of its body spills across the ground and disappears.

Anders throws out his arm, sending a magic bolt hurtling at the Rage demon. The moment the magic connects it's bubbling fires turn into ice. An ice sculpture any Tevinter magister would appreciate, Anders thinks.

Carver turns on his heel and rushes toward it, raising his sword. As his sword comes down, the cacophony of smashed ice roars down the walls of the passageway. When Carver straightens and looks around him, he is pleased to see there are no more demons to contend with. That always changes, usually sooner than later. Just as Carver had warned them, the longer they tarry in this forsaken place, the more dangerous it becomes; these demons are tireless in their pursuit for his brother and Anders. Carver is beginning to understand why templars must be so devoted to protecting mages from possession. A thankless task.

Though Anders seems to be at full capacity in that regard. But it's Garrett who Carver worries about. If anything should happen to him, their mother would probably die of grief. Caver must stand in the way of that ever happening.

"Good work, Anders." Garrett pats the mage on the back. "You'll have to teach me that cold spell."

"Only if I get to learn how to zap lightning from my fingers." Anders grins.

Carver rolls his eyes and slides his sword back into its holster with an audible _klack_. They continue on their way, walking the same tunnel for the better part of the day. Or night, or whatever. Their little friends of the Fade are the only change in the monotony. Until, finally, they cross from a gravelly floor to a proper paved hallway.

Veins of lyrium grow out of the rock like weeds. "There's enough lyrium here to make a templar giddy," Carver says with amusement.

"I don't like it's red glow. Or that singing." Anders shifts his staff to his other hand. "It feels... ominous."

Garret shakes his head, his mouth quirked. "Well when you say it like that."

"Oh, look, another door." Varric points their attention to the end of the hall. "Who has the honor?" Everyone looks at him. "Me again. You're going to spoil me." Varric inspects the door and the ground at the threshold. Deeming it safe, he wraps both hands around the handle and starts pulling. Carver reaches behind his head and reassuringly clasps his greatsword's hilt. With a grunt of effort, Varric slides the door open.

"Grab something sharp and pointy!" The dwarf announces. "We've got company!"

Carver pulls free his sword in one fluid motion. "You ready? I'm ready!" He charges through the door. On its other side is a horde of Shades and, to everyone's dismay, those walking rock creatures. With all the practice they've endured lately, defeating these things feels almost routine. Hack, slash, hack, slash, magic, magic, magic, die. Repeat as necessary.

"Why is it nobody seems happy to see us?" Varric sighs, lowering his crossbow after the last demon vanishes.

No one answers as they take in the view. Whatever this place used to be, its in ruins now; crumbling columns, broken slabs laying haphazardly on the ground, carpeted with rubble. Hardly surprising, but the sheer size of the cavern is staggering to contemplate. Carver wagers they could easily fit Kirkwall's Chantry in here. Maybe even the Grand Cathedral of Orlais.

Black chasms yawn open on either side of the broken path they walk, creating a perilous bridge. Carver dares himself to peer over the edge and finds the darkness is so utter and complete that even the sharp red light of nearby lyrium bushels cannot dent it. Carver shudders to imagine what it would feel like to tumble over the edge and fall for an eternity.

When they approach the end to the bridge, the ground trembles beneath their feet. Carver wobbles and the others have as much trouble with their own footing. Large heavy stones roll toward them from the shadows. The stones stack together, giving rise to two legs and arms, a chest and shoulders. Currents of energy crackle as joints meet, coalescing in the center of its chest to create a pulsing core of light. At the top of its shoulders, just like the others creatures, is a skeleton head. This skull is shattered, giving it a crescent-shaped face with one eye socket burning bright.

Tension snaps taught through Carver's body. Everyone raises their weapos, anticipating a fight. But before Garrett can taps his magic or Varric line a shot, a disembodied voice booms around them.

"Enough! You have proven your mettle. I would not see these creatures harmed without need."

They exchanges nervous glances. Carver expects a maniacal blood mage to step out of the shadows in a dramatic reveal. That would be a lot easier to believe than what he's seeing now. A talking rock monster? Carver supposes it'll be talking darkspawn next.

"You're willing to talk?" Garrett isn't without suspicion. "You're the first one here that hasn't simply attacked us."

"They will not assault you further," it's single, baleful eye bores down at them, "not without my permission."

"What are these things?" Frustration scatters Varric's composure. "They seem like rock wraiths, but..."

"They hunger." The timbre of the creature's voice deep and haunting. "The profane have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need is all they know."

Garrett's eyes widen. "The lyrium? That's what sustains them?" Horror creeps into his voice.

"I am not as they are." The creature soothes. "I am... a visitor."

Anders has slowly shifted toward Garrett and stands beside him, vigilantly holding his staff close. "It seems mostly interested in their hunger. It's a demon, come to feed."

"I would not see my feast end." Sensing Anders' disapproval, the creature seems to loom even taller. It's eye considers them. "I sense your desire." It rumbles. "You seek to leave this place, but you will need my aid to do so."

"Don't do it." Anders urges in Garrett's ear. "Demons will trip you up every time."

"Could be a way out of here," Carver doesn't look at his brother, conflicted. "I don't know..."

Varric looks pointedly at Garrett. "What are our options?" He reminds him. Not many.

Garrett doesn't look at any of them. He steadfastly stares back into the creature's gaze. "How will you help us? Why do you need our aid to leave?"

"There is another door that leads into the paths far above us. That is what you seek. It has been sealed, however, and cannot be opened without a key. I know where the key is. Do as I ask , and I shall tell you."

"Hmph." Varric crosses his arms. "What do you think?" He prompts Garrett.

"We deal." Garrett says firmly. "We don't have much choice."

"Very wise." Purrs the demon.

Anders pulls back, his brow furrowed. "What part of _demon_ did you not hear? You cannot ask me to deal with this monster."

Garrett surprises Carver by not responding. Anders hardens his eyes, the disapproving lines on his face deepening. Carver is actually impressed with Anders for finding some backbone at long last. But when Garrett ignores him entirely, Anders' conviction folds.

"There is a crypt not far from here guarded by a creature that has confounded me for too long. Slay it..." The demon says with relish, "and freedom is yours."

Garrett nods. They don't dawdle. Carver is glad to be away from the demon, leaving the creature behind after they ascend a series of stairs and reenter a hallway in shambles. Goosebumps ride up Carver's arms just from thinking about that creature's deep, hypnotic voice. He'd never heard a demon speak before and he's sorry that he has. What if it has cast a spell on them? Demons can influence the mind without its victim knowing.

"I will not be sorry to see daylight again." Varric mutters.

Carver silently agrees. He almost feels starved for it, like all this depressing darkness has been slowly leeching his will to live. Every battle ends with exhaustion and each time he succumbs to sleep it's harder and harder to wake him. Carver fears he might be going mad, since waking with a faint hum in his head, teasing his ears like a pesky fly.

They enter a new passage and walk through red pools of light.

"Dwarven legend tell of dwarves so corrupt that even the Stone rejects them," Varric says, breaking the silence, "and they are doomed to wander the Deep Roads. Every so often a survivor, often half mad, staggers from the Deep Roads whispering of living rock with glowing eyes." He chuckles sardonically. "All myth, of course."

The tunnel winds upward, forcing them to crawl over boulders, and then down its other side. Can't say nature didn't at least try to make things interesting. The walls close in, pressing them into line, and then spits them out into an empty cavern.

"There isn't anything here." Carver mutters irritably, shaking his head. The humming drills deeper._  
_

"A trick." Anders snorts.

They warily cross into the cave.

"What is this place?" Garrett wonders.

"This is the vault." Varric is uneasy. "The dwarves would have brought their..."

A foreboding rumble drowns his words. The men turn, rattled by tremors as enormous stones are pulled together by an invisible force. The rocks tumble upward, fashioning a body which easily dwarfs the ogre taken down during the escape from Lothering.

The ancient Rock Wraith flickers to life, glowing with bloody light from the glut of its eons feasting.

Varric holds Bianca close. "Oh, that can't be good."


	9. The Primordial Thaig IV

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

The Primordial Thaig

Part IV

**9:31 Dragon**

"We can't just keep running in circles!" yells Anders.

"Hey, I'm just following you!" Varric puffs.

Garrett skids around a column of rock with Carver, Anders, and Varric close behind. "Should we stop and tell the unstoppable rock monster that this has all just been a misunderstanding?" Garrett shouts back at them, tightly holding his staff.

A boulder hurls past them. It crashes into the nearest wall, exploding into a cloud of chalky dust.

"Too embarrassing." Varric says.

They dodge around another column. For a mindless creature made from three stories of rock, it's nimbly remained on their heels.

"We need to attack." Carver shouts to be heard over the thunder of steps behind them.

"That's worked marvelously so far." Garrett comments sarcastically.

"I never trained to fight monsters." He shoots back in annoyance. He learned only how to fight men because that was who the various swordsmen who trained him were fighting.

Carver would make the same case for demons. Their father had been fastidious about keeping a low profile; there were no summoning of spirits, even the supposed benevolent kind, and never an occasion of anything more sinister. Until they fled to the Free Marches demons hadn't been part of a typical Tuesday.

"Fair enough." Garrett frowns, thinking. It's difficult to strategize while on the run from a giant glowing guardian determined to smash them into a fine paste.

Before he can decide anything, a boulder the size of a barn sails over their heads and violently burrows into the ground at their feet. The resulting eruption of dirt and rock slaps them back with enough force to scatter them across the cavern. After landing on his stomach, Garrett struggles to get to his feet. He wipes his fingers at the dirt clinging to his eyelashes and sees the Rock Wraith rising up from the plume of dust. _Nice trick_.

"For the love of the Maker," Anders grunts as he uses his staff to haul himself to his feet.

Garrett cups the side of his mouth with one hand. "Anders, can you hold it with a ward?"

Angry red light fluctuates around the Rock Wraith's skeleton face like a tattered flag. Shadows jump away from the Wraith as it looms up and stomps toward them.

"I can't, it's resisting." Anders stabs his staff in the guardian's direction as if the first attempt only lacked enough conviction to succeed. The Wraith doesn't slow, much less stop.

Garrett sends a crackling arc of lightning at the Wraith's chest. The pulsing red veins of power holding it together, like the seams of a child's doll, flicker for only a moment. Those streams of light seem the likeliest weakness, though the Rock Wraith gives no indication Garrett could be right.

Shards of freezing magic strike against the Wraith, the air sizzling as icy gusts blow through the chinks in the rock. The Wraith slows to a crawling pace as sleet takes hold. Anders continues whipping out spells like a madman, his pale complexion bright with a sheen of sweat.

"More, Anders! It's weakening!"

Obligingly, Anders digs deeper into himself. Dark blue flame kindle in his eyes and he cannot stem the tide of anger that bears the mana to his fingertips. Justice – no, Vengeance – burns exquisitely beneath his skin. Anders feels that if he gives in, gives control of himself to the rage, then the enemy would be brought low and destroyed. But he resists the temptation, as he always has, frightened by what it would mean.

On the other side of the cave, Carver anxiously watches his brother. "We need to do something!" He demands, shaking the sword in his hand.

"For the last time, there's nothing you or I can do. Besides decorate the walls with our blood, and I have to admit I like my blood where it is."

"You're a coward." Carver snaps.

The dwarf continues to calmly rub the brass finish on his crossbow with a scrap of rag from his coat pocket. "No, Junior, I'm an opportunist."

"I don't see the difference."

Varric chuckles and tucks the rag away. "That's hardly my fault."

Chilling winds tear at the cavern, clawing loose rock from the ceiling. Dense flurries of snow hamper his vision but Carver can still make out Anders and Garrett standing toward the center of the cave, dangerously near the Rock Wraith encased in ice. The mages aren't trying for subtlety, however. Anders is consumed in dark twisted fire and a white nimbus surrounds Garrett, whose eyes are closed in concentration. Both men are entirely devoted to their conjurations.

"It's time," Carver announces, more to himself than Varric, who is casually reloading bolts into Bianca and doesn't seem to be listening. "I know my brother; he'll want us to attack this thing while it's frozen and brittle, at it's weakest point." He tests his grip on his sword. "It'll be the only way."

"Sounds like a golden opportunity." Varric comes to stand beside him.

"You knew..." Carver realizes. He inclines his head. "We need to time our charge, and –" The words die in his throat. Carver takes an uncertain step forward, then several more.

"Junior?"

He breaks into a run. Rocks spring up out of the snowy winds in front of him but Carver jumps around these dark, bleary shapes. He fast approaches the faintly-glowing rock statue. That it's glowing a faint red hue is probably not a good thing. As Carver get closer he can see the color flood through the blocks of ice, deepening until all he can think of is blood.

The first crack races up one side of the Wraith. Carver starts to yell but everything happens at once. A scream of fury tears out of Garrett as he unleashes the devastating effect of a lightning storm, channeling the massive web of electricity through his staff at the Rock Wraith.

At the same moment, the prison of ice is breached. It destructs from the inside as a massive, concussive force expels them away from the Wraith. Garrett's spell goes awry, disrupted somehow by the Wraith's discharged energy, and attacks everything indiscriminately.

The sensation that jolts through him is unlike anything Carver has experienced. His nerves feel raw and exposed, strung between a state of agony and mere discomfort. The shock to his body arrests all movement, leaving his arms rigidly locked into place. He desperately wants to scream so he can bear it, but his jaw is clenched tight that no amount of willpower can resolve.

Suddenly the magic stops throttling them and lets go. Carver collapses onto the ground, sword still in hand. So well in hand, in fact, that Carver isn't able to let go of it, his knuckles chalk white.

"Varric! Carver!"

Carver unsteadily gets up from his knees, planting the tip of his sword into the ground as he rises. He looks around for the source of his brother's voice. The ground is covered in many more rocks, blocking any sight of the others. "I'm here," Carver calls, leaning a supportive hand on a rock as he moves cautiously through the thick dust hanging in the air. There's a loud crunch under his boot. Carver looks down to see a crushed skull.

"I'm fine. Where's Bianca?"

Carver wanders through the dust and debris until he bumps into Varric. Together they find Garrett, holding Anders halfway across his lap, eyes closed and deathly still. Carver's insides knot up as they walk toward them.

"Blondie, is he...?"

Anders opens his eyes and smirks at the dwarf. "As charming as he is handsome?"

Carver kicks himself for caring.

Garrett rolls his eyes and shoves Anders off his lap.

Anders tries to look hurt. "Hey, I was just getting comfortable."

"I'd be happy to kill you so we can try again." Garrett says sweetly.

Varric's robust laughter echoes around them. Anders and Garrett exchange looks and they too begin to laugh. Even Carver joins in and they laugh until tears streak their dust-caked faces. Once they catch their breath they are back on their feet and exploring the far end of the cavern where the primordial demon indicated there would be a doorway leading out of this pit. As they weave around the enormous chunks of stone that was the vault's ancient guardian, they must marvel over the narrow odds of their victory. It was blind luck, Garrett says.

Carver shakes his head. "If you and Anders weren't here, no amount of luck could have saved us." Garrett pauses and looks at Carver with a sudden intensity – doubting Carver's sincerity perhaps? Carver shrugs, letting it be known it didn't matter to him how Garrett took it.

"The rock wraiths are suppose to be dwarven legend." Varric repeats to himself. "They're not even supposed to be real!"

"Looked pretty real to me." Garrett grins.

"I suppose it doesn't matter... look what it was guarding."

Sitting in an alcove dimly lit under the haze of an outcrop of lyrium, lay more gold than they've ever seen. There are chests and coffers nestled among the hills and valleys of coin, the mystery of their contents begging to be discovered. Diamonds, garnets, lapis lazuli and jade are but a handful of recognizable gems scattered about. The most alluring of the treasure for Carver is a rack of weapons standing against a wall of the alcove. Shortswords, greatswords, massive hammers and a wicked-looking ax, all finely-crafted and richly inlaid, maybe even enchanted.

"That is not yours." Warns a deep voice behind them. They turn away from the treasure and Carver is filled with dismay at the sight of the demon they'd bargained with earlier, still masquerading as a profane. After going up against a Rock Wraith, Carver has trouble viewing the profane as anything but small and slight by comparison. "The key you require is in that chest. Leave all else, for it is mine."

"_Psst_." Varric leans toward the center of their group. "Not to point out the obvious," He whispers, "but can you imagine what this stuff would be worth on the surface?"

"You will not!" The demon roars. "It is mine, all of it! Take only the key, or I shall destroy you!"

"I don't care for your threats." Garrett snarls.

The demon's single eye blazes. "And I no longer care for your presence!"

A moment later the demon's body lay scattered at their feet.

"Let's collect the best pieces we can carry out of here and go." Varric suggests, sifting through coin with the toe of his boot. He leans down to pluck up a gemstone. This outta clear my tab at the Hanged Man, he thinks with a wry smirk.

While Anders and Carver fawn over the weapon racks, Garrett kneels in front of the chest the demon had instructed and lifts the lid. Conveniently laying on top of a chest full of silver bars is a an intricately molded piece of metal. He holds it up.

"A key," Varric approves, "the kind that opens doors I hope."

They load their pockets with jewels and coin, stash whatever they can into their belts, and select new weapons – except Varric, of course. You can't improve on perfection, he says.

Leaving that cavern lifts their spirits, even though they continue traveling through seemingly identical hallways and tunnels. The jingle in their pockets and, for Carver, the weight of a beautiful new hammer on his back does wonders for morale. His aches and pains can be largely forgotten, even the humming which vexed him before goes ignored.

Hope is a powerful drug.

Two days they spend cautiously traveling through this new branch of Deep Roads. There is plenty of webbing and the unnerving clicking of fangs hidden in the darkness to keep them on their toes. Varric suspects they're the first to step foot into this part of the Roads since being sealed during the First Blight.

What an honor, Carver remarked dryly.

Another several hours gone by on their endless trek before Varric holds up a hand and they stop. He stares at the hopelessly crumpled and equally useless map in his hand. "Hmm. I'd say this is our way back." The paper disappears inside his coat.

"How long to get back?" asks Garrett wearily.

Varric rubs the dense stubble on his chin. "If we're unlucky, maybe a week."

"And if we're lucky?"

"We stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way."


	10. Order of the Grey I

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

Order of the Grey

Part I

**9:31 Dragon**

"This is disgusting!" Anders reproachfully holds the half-chewed Deep Mushroom away, the corners of his mouth bent down.

"I bet." Varric's brows rise with his amusement.

Anders looks at Varric, then the Hawke brothers who are watching him with subdued horror.

"Anders, those are poison." Garrett's voice is shaded with concern.

Carver leans his back against a wall and loosely crosses his arms. "If you eat them raw you'll go crazy." A pause. "You'll go crazier." He amends.

Anders' brown eyes fill his face. With a chuckle Varric plucks the mushroom from Anders' fingertips and adds it back to their small pile. "Don't worry, Blondie. You'll probably just get the royal shits."

Carver throws his head back and barks out a laugh. Varric smiles wryly, though it fades as he notices the dark bags hanging beneath Carver's eyes. The kid hasn't been holding up as well as the others.

Traipsing through the Deep Roads is alright for dwarves whose constitutions compensate for a distinct lack of water and vegetation. But Varric has been troubled about keeping his human friends alive since after they'd picked every crumb from the bottom of their pockets.

It was dicey work scouring the side passages in darkspawn territory but their gamble paid off when they found the Deep Mushrooms, which only grow near darkspawn corruption. That had been a fun, harrowing experience.

Anders rolls his tongue inside his mouth, then spits. "Isn't this the fungus dwarves make their ale with?"

"I tried some, once," Garrett comments. "A barrel of dwarven ale fell from a merchant's cart outside Dane's pub and sprang a leak. He sold it to the barkeep Danal on the spot. First time anyone in Lothering got the opportunity to try something as extravagant as dwarven ale; the crowd flowed into the street. It was black as dragon piss and smelled like ass but we all sang a toast and threw it down the hatch." A fond smile creeps out from the dark scruff of his beard. "It came right back up of course."

"I never heard of this before." Carver straightens slightly, a skeptical frown creasing his mouth.

"I went with father. I promised not to tell." Garrett grins.

Carver's lip stiffens but he says nothing to betray his envy.

"Dinner is served. Or breakfast. Don't let me dictate your fantasy." Varric delivers a pinch of Deep Mushroom, thoroughly cleaned and blanched in water that had been magically heated, into each set of cupped hands. The men informally arrange themselves on the ground and quietly eat, the only sound being of water dripping from the ceiling of an alcove nearby.

Carver would have enjoyed the silence were his senses not being drowned in preternatural humming. At first faint and muted like notes carried from a distance, lurking just outside his consciousness; the sound has only grown stronger since leaving the thaig, now a hellacious pressure building inside his skull.

Carver puts a piece of mushroom on his tongue and closes his mouth. He instinctively knows Varric is watching him, though the dwarf hides his interest well. Carver works his jaw up and down but doesn't chew. The humming writhes through him, clutching at his gut, and the very notion of swallowing even a shred of mushroom nauseates him. He wishes he could keep something down, even this repugnant fungus. Then maybe he wouldn't feel so weak, so tired.

Garrett and Anders laugh together, sharing another story. When Varric is drawn into the conversation and away from him, Carver shoves his ration of Deep Mushroom into his pocket and spits the piece from his mouth.

"...so I said, 'Liquor? I hardly know her!'" Anders' face is a rictus of rakish delight as Garrett roars with laughter. The noise pounds almost painfully against Carver's eardrums, like a storm on a tin roof, and he wearily closes his eyes.

His shoulder being roughly shaken forces Carver to reluctantly open them. "What?" He blinks groggily.

Garrett is bent close. "We have to move. Anders senses nearby darkspawn. I let you sleep as long as I could."

Confusion jumbles his expression but he nods. I fell asleep? Carver wonders. It felt like he'd only closed his eyes for a few minutes. Using the wall to slowly push himself up to his feet, Carver grabs the long graceful stalk of his hammer and slides it into it's holster, then adjusts its straps on his shoulders so that the weight sits comfortably.

The hours shuffle past them. The Road they travel looks like every other one; in shambles and disrepair, with the bright yellow light of the lava channels stabbing at the dark corruption sluicing across rock.

When they reach the next junction of tunnels, Varric digs inside his coat and pulls out that miserably crumpled map he'd copied and consults it for their next move.

"Admit it, dwarf," Carver ambles up to him, arms crossed in a way he hopes won't betray how cold he feels, barely able to suppress his shudder, "you're only pretending that chicken scratch serves us any purpose."

Varric places a hand against his chest. "He speaks! And here I've been so worried you lost your voice with your sense of adventure."

"Adventure!" Carver snorts derisively.

"Carver." Garrett groans.

Anders articulates his own opinion with a heavy sigh and Carver shoots a dark look at him. "Fine. I'll go back to pretending that we're not utterly lost and doomed to wander this hell for eternity."

"Thank you."

Varric clears his throat, the affected gesture causing Carver to further scowl. Smoothing the paper across the flat side of a crumbling column, Varric returns to his study, tracing the scrawling lines with the tip of his finger. He and Garrett talk in muted tones before deciding on the next turn in direction. Anders comes forward, and as is now custom, leads them down the new passage with an invisible eye alert for any darkspawn activity.

Carver drags his feet as he follows at the back of the group. His legs are heavy and his every movement bogged down by a terrible weariness. He doesn't realize just how out of it he is until, without warning, he nearly trips over Varric. Carver feels his ear burn with embarrassment as he catches his footing. Then he notices they've all stopped walking.

Carver's gaze probes the darkness huddled around them. The harder he tries to ignore the humming, the stronger it seems to get. Needless to say his hearing is all but useless.

"What _is_ that infernal noise?" Garrett says.

Carver is at once surprised and hopeful that Garrett could be referring to the song he's being haunted by. But before he can ask, Anders wheels on the group.

"Darkspawn!" He hisses. "Run!"

Without sparing a moment for debate, Anders runs ahead into the black hole of the tunnel. Carver and the others have no choice but to follow. They leave the Roads again, this time not by their choice. Carver can feel the ground beneath his feet change. The gossamery light on top of Anders' staff swings madly as the mage holds it at his side while he runs.

Their throats and muscles burn as their pace quickens, urged on through the crooked passages by Anders. The darkness presses in oppressively, black slimy rocks flashing as they run by. Fear lends them speed but they can't outrun the growing sounds of their pursuers; the stomp of boots and clash of rusted swords are all around them. Echoes confuse their direction and a flustered Anders leads them into a dead end.

They hastily turn around and run back the way they'd come. As they pass a large crack in the wall, a tide of darkspawn vomits forth. A dreadful awe twists Carver's guts around as he sees the ugly, viscous creatures in their stained leathers and rusted armor swallow up Anders and Garrett at the front. Their only bit of light at the top of Anders' staff gutters wildly, like a candle in the wind. Men and monster-shaped shadows writhe over the glistening black sludge of corruption coating the walls.

A genlock with a shortsword rushes at Carver. Instinctively he throws out his fist, crushing it's nose with a gush of ichor that wells between his knuckles. Lashing out his foot, Carver knocks it down. Immediately jumping upon it, he smashes the rest of it's face in with his boot in a frenzy of fear.

He's barely finished killing it when he's struck with a club. The tide of adrenaline and fear which empowered him before is replaced with the shock of pain. Carver wilts to one knee and barely raises his arm in time to deflect the next blow. The club is crudely made, leaving bloody scrapes along his forearm. Unthinkingly, Carver throws himself forward with a roar. He and the genlock brawl on the ground between darkspawn corpses and stomping feet.

"This isn't going so well!" Varric tries to yell over the din of the fight. He backhands a short darkspawn and then plunges a dagger into its exposed neck, wrenching it across the jugular before pulling out. With a gurgle of black blood the creature falls back.

"We can't attack with magic without getting caught in it!" Anders says desperately, his back against a wall. He uses his staff to club back a hurlock, splitting open the puckered skin on it's bald head.

The genlock trapped between Carver's hands squeals in agony as he digs his fingers into it's yellow eyes. Acid crawls up Carver's throat as he watches his own handiwork, sickened by the gory sight. But he keeps squeezing, afraid to let go.

"Get ready to run!" Garrett shouts.

Carver hears his brother's voice, though the words themselves are blotted out by the maddening hum pulsing through him. It sounds much like the darkspawn around them, buzzing like an angry hornet's nest.

"Now!"

The scream tears through the tunnel and Carver jerks back from the genlock's lifeless body. His hands are so black with blood he can't see them. He chases after the light of Anders staff, which blazes so brilliantly it is painful to look on directly. This seems to be it's purpose as the darkspawn fall far behind them, outside the reach of the light, shrieking with fury.

They run for what feels like forever. Long after the sounds of their pursuers is swallowed up by the labyrinthine Roads, their pace remains urgent. Every gap in the walls is now regarded as a death trap.

With legs that feel one thousand pounds, Carver trails further and further behind them. When the others notice, they slow to a walk. Carver can't bring himself to acknowledge he's the cause of the slack but he is grateful for the respite. Even the terrible song has dimmed to the back of his mind and he is able to think, for the moment. Unfortunately there's nothing pleasant to consider.

"This part of the Deep Roads looks familiar." Garrett says haltingly, his hope meek as he gazes up the walls of the corridor. They step into a large chamber with a geometric pattern made of red and brown tiles sprawling from one end of the ceiling to the other.

"We're back to where we started and only in five days. Not bad, eh?" Varric walks toward a set of steps leading down to the chamber floor.

"It felt like five weeks." Anders rubs his eyes, sunken from a distinct lack of sleep since their lastest brush with death.

With no more wall to bear him, Carver sways uncertainly on his feet as he walks into the chamber. His vision tilts and he feels transported back to the brig of the ship which bore his family to Kirkwall. His heart pounds with slow deliberate beats, as if pumping sludge.

Carver's pride abandons him. "Think we could... take a break?" The words feel thick and pushing them out of his mouth takes effort. "I feel... wrong."

Garrett affords him a backward glance. "Let's make camp if you're sick."

Varric chuckles as he overhears. "I'll wager it was those deep mushrooms we found."

Shadows which have been coalescing at the edges of Carver's vision swim together, blocking his sight. The darkness brings a surcease to the threads of strength holding him up and he slumps to his knees. "No, it's..."

Carver swoons to the floor.

"Carver!" Garrett recovers from his shock and rushes to Carver's side. He scoops his hand beneath Carver's head, which he discovers dripping with sweat, though his skin feels cold to the touch.

Carver cracks his eyes open and Garrett is horrified to see them cloudy and marred. Dark veins lay visible against Carver's waxen, almost translucent skin.

"It's the blight." Anders blurts.

Garrett looks up at him, his eyes burning.

"I can sense it." Anders apologetically adds in nearly a mumble.

"Just like that templar, Wesley. I'll be just as dead, just as gone."

Carver's eyes barely move, but Garrett looks into them, not wanting to believe. "We'll find a way out." Garrett whispers fiercely. "There must be some other way!"

"I'm not going to make it," Carver laments with a moan, "not to the surface, not anywhere."


	11. Order of the Grey II

**THE OTHER BROTHER**

Order of the Grey

Part II

**9:31 Dragon**

"It's getting worse." Carver groans as he strains to sit up. His muscles and stomach tie into a barbed knot from the effort.

A firm but gentle hand flattens against Carver's chest, urging him to stop the exertion. Carver drops his head back into his brother's embrace and resigns himself to being held like a child. If he had any of his former strength he'd use it to at least sit up on his own. Laying there helplessly, being coddled by a brother who he would never have described as nurturing, makes Carver distinctly uncomfortable.

_Death is supposed to be uncomfortable._

Anders swallows thickly as he watches Garrett and Carver, pity in his eyes. "There might be something we can do." He hesitantly offers. "I stole the maps from a Warden who had come to Kirkwall. I wanted to know if he was looking for me. He wasn't. The maps were for planning their own expedition into the Deep Roads."

"Does that mean the Grey Wardens are here?" Garrett lifts his gaze. Anguish has smothered the defiant fire in his eyes. Anders' heart aches to look into them.

"If the Wardens are here, I know where. We could bring Carver to them..."

Carver's labored breath hitches in his attempt at a gibe laugh. "And what? Become a Grey Warden?"

Garrett looks on Carver's pale face, sees the skin stretched thin across his sallow cheeks. With Bethany, it had at least been quick and painless. His mouth twitches as he looks up at Anders. "Is becoming a Grey Warden a cure?"

Anders licks his lower lip, at first reluctant to answer hope with hope; he can sense it in Garrett as surely as he can sense the taint. It may be too dangerous to hope; as a mage Anders knows it can cost a man his dignity, his virtues – even his humanity. "Yes, I suppose it is." He uneasily answers. "But it's not without a price – one not everyone is willing to pay."

Carver tries to listen, tries to hear the words and not the song; the humming, it calls to him from the deep dark places underground. The fingers in his hair and the cold stone leching the feverish heat from his body is what keeps his mind in the here and now but it is a struggle he loses breath by breath.

"What does that mean?" Garrett stammers. "What price? Maker's Breath, spit it out!"

Anders flinches as if the words harm him. "The process of becoming a Grey Warden is... unpleasant. And irreversible." He hesitates again, then steels himself to speak the brutal truth. "It also means you might never see your brother again. He might survive the blight, but at the cost of becoming a Grey Warden. It's not an easy life. Trust me."

"What about you? You got away from them. You're not a Grey Warden anymore." Garrett says hopefully.

Anders ignores the stab of grief he feels at hearing the hopeful note in Garrett's voice. "You think I got away?" He shakes his head. "Eventually they or the Circle will drag me back. I've got no illusions about that."

Garrett doesn't flinch away from that. "Would they agree to this? How does someone even become a Grey Warden?"

"I can't tell you." Anders is unhappy to say it, the bridge of his nose furrowing. "But it's not something you can undo once it's done... even if you want to."

Silently, without any sense of intrusion, Varric kneels on the other side of Carver and pats him on the shoulder. Maybe it's the delirium from sickness or the clarity they say meeting death brings, but Carver finds the dwarf's presence oddly comforting. While the others discuss his very short future, there's succor to be found in that momentary touch.

Carver lifts his chin, trying to focus his eyes on Garrett. "This just keeps sounding better and better..." Carver tries to joke, but the thick slur of his words only makes Garrett frown sadly.

"They might agree to it, however." Anders presses. "That's _if_ we can find them in time."

"Now try to sound ominous." Varric mutters.

Carver closes his eyes, shutting out the smudged faces of his brother and the others. He wishes he could block out their voices, the song, just put his head under a pillow and wait for a morning when this will all have been a nightmare.

"We have to try." Garrett decides, using his don't-question-me voice. "If there's even a chance, we must take it."

Anders' lips press into a thin line. "Then I hope I'm right."

The men huddle around Carver, tucking their hands beneath his prone body and under his arms. In a joint effort they haul him to his feet. For a moment Carver feels strength flood through him and he stands on his own, only for the feeling to flow right out of him, and he unwillingly sags against Anders.

The surprised mage grabs him by one arm and Garrett darts in to grab Carver by his other. Together they begin a painfully slow walk back the way they had come, toward the last junction. Varric leads them but Garrett and Anders are so laden by Carver's weight that Varric must adjust his step accordingly. Even his relaxed gait outpaces them.

"Why?" The word slithers out of Carver's mouth. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Saving your life? It's this thing I do." Garrett says, the words lacking his usual mirth.

It is silent for a long time. The Roads feel no less menacing to the others, but something has changed for Carver. The darkness seems more welcoming; the thrumming of song pulses through the rock and air from the heart of the world. It was so maddening, so violent before, but now so coaxing, almost hypnotic. Carver finds himself at first repulsed by its allure but in the moments he stops fighting it, his fears are strangely soothed.

"Brother, let me go." Carver's lips barely move, but the words tremble with force. Anders is stunned by the request but Garrett holds tight onto Carver's arm looped around his neck and Anders is forcibly pulled back into step.

"We're not stopping." He snaps.

"I am asking for mercy..."

"No!" The word explodes through the tunnels. Varric stiffens and turns around to watch them. Garrett shakes his head at him and they keep moving.

The rage sitting in Carver's chest pounds against his ribs. He drags in a breath. "We don't get to choose how we're born, those are father's words. But I can at least choose how I die." For all his anger Carver expects the words to spit fire. But his voice only quavers miserably.

"I'd rather you choose to live." Garrett breathes harshly.

"This is all I have left," Tears sting Carver's eyes and he hides the weakness with a bowed head. "You can't take it from me."

An uninvited silence envelopes him, scratched at only by the sound of boots scraping rock and heavy breathing. When they reach the junction, Anders instructs them which way to turn. Darkspawn and Wardens bare the same taint and it will be difficult, if not impossible, for him to differentiate between the two. At least until they're close.

"Remove my weapon; leave it for the darkspawn. It's just more dead weight you have to carry." Carver's voice croaks from several hours' disuse.

"You're going to need it." Garrett replies curtly.

Ander's tone is warmer. "Any Warden is as good as his weapon."

Carver hangs his head again and says nothing about how ludicrous this all is. Garrett is determined not to listen to reason. He's always been a fool for lost causes. What awes Carver is how readily Anders and Varric march back into the black heart of the Deep Roads without a single protest. Surely it has everything to do with their blind loyalty to his brother. Carver is sure that has nothing to do with it. He's never been regarded as worthy of devotion by anyone.

And this is his laughable legacy, only be remembered in bard tales of how Garrett valiantly, selflessly braved death and doom to save his helpless little brother. Carver will be just a footnote; no one will even bother to learn his name.

How I hate him, Carver thinks. I hate him, hate him.

Anders mumbles inaudibly to himself and slows to a stop. "Hmm." His perplexed gaze roams the ruins piled around them, as if looking for a clue. Garrett's shoulder droops with Carver's full weight as Anders extricates himself to wander further down the tunnel.

The mage presses his mind outward, trying to feel for the Wardens, but all he hears is the angry hum of the darkspawn in the distance. Anders can tell that the darkspawn are yet unaware of their presence, although only he, and perhaps Carver, would be able to draw their attention should they get too close.

He and the warrior share the same taint as the darkspawn now. From Anders, through his Joining; from Carver due to his sickness, which Anders suspects the lad contracted from his exposure to darkspawn blood. One drop is all it can take sometimes, as potent as any assassin's poison.

Anders can sense movement among the darkspawn, their song buzzing at the edge of his mind, sharp and alert. _They're looking. We can't give them the chance to find us_.

Anders returns to Garrett, one hand held loft and a finger pointed down the dark tunnel. "The way forward is thick with darkspawn and I believe their taint is masking the location of the Grey Wardens. We must get closer for me to know exactly where they are."

"But that means..." Varric rubs his forehead as he grasps their options.

"Into the lion's den, then." Garrett looks at Anders with an understanding nod. So brave, Anders thinks. But also insensibly foolish. Yet he can't bring himself to suggest giving up. Garrett Hawke is an immovable man in his convictions, and Anders finds himself undeniably attracted to that passion.

It isn't long until the hair on the back of Varric's neck stands on end. Make that the hairs on his chest too. Freeing his hand from Bianca's trigger, he rubs his neck. "Not to sound completely crazy but do you hear what I hear?"

They all hold their breath and listen. The dank air is thick with sweat and fear. As the minutes tick by, the pounding of their hearts begin to quiet, and the faint drone of humming is plain for them to hear. The men exchange uneasy looks.

"It's not like anything we've heard before." Garrett's chest noticeably lifts and falls as he still catches his breath.

"No." Anders agrees. "It's the darkspawn. We're close to a nest."

"Andraste's ass." Varric groans.

Anders takes Carver's other arm and bends it around his neck, bearing some weight off of Garrett. They resume shuffling down the tunnel, taking turns based solely on Anders' gut feeling with the hope he'll lead them to the Grey Wardens. The humming grows louder, angrier, pressing against the edge of light cast by Anders' staff.

Carver slips in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently and sweating profusely. His legs hang from his waist uselessly, his feet trailing last, from inertia as much as a desire that Garrett will tire from dragging him and give up. He doesn't.

Long after sneaking past the horde's nesting grounds and return to navigating the Deep Roads again, Anders slows to a stop. He stares out at something invisible to Garrett and the others, then his eyes flicker shut in concentration.

The silence stretches and the droning hum prickles at the back of Garrett's mind. "What's wrong?" He finally demands, finding the tension unbearable.

Anders' eyebrows are knit together uncertainly after opening his eyes. "I think they're nearby."

The echo of approaching footsteps float toward them. Garrett's heart leaps to hear it and with a fresh surge of strength hobbles with Carver toward the sound. Anders helps him, while Varric slinks from the cover of one chunk of masonry to another.

"Hello!" Garrett shouts.

The air rumbles as the footsteps quicken.

"We're over here!"

There must be many Wardens by the sound of it, maybe even an entire battalion. The first one of them runs into view. Their armor isn't shining like the tales, but dark with rust and dried blood. As several more step into the Road and bound toward them, their chipped and broken swords raised with an ugly roar, Garrett chokes on the truth.

"Or it could be darkspawn."


End file.
